


don't go where i can't follow

by thewhiskingpot



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate POVs, Canon Compliant, Fighting, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing/Making Out, Lowkey Crack, M/M, Miscommunication, Pining, Unresolved Sexual Tension, but no hot sexy time because iwaizumi is a wet blanket, oikawa is so anNOYING, slight angst, talks of sex because Inappropriate Oikawa is a thing, very self-indulgent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:34:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 48,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27147424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewhiskingpot/pseuds/thewhiskingpot
Summary: It’s a decade old routine: Oikawa picks petty fights with rival teams, and Iwaizumi expertly cleans up after his mess. It’s just a decade old routine, harmless taunting and teasing, until it’s not. Not when Iwaizumi gets jumped, and Oikawa sees red.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 112
Kudos: 312





	1. brat

**Author's Note:**

  * For [redroseinsanity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/redroseinsanity/gifts).



> For the loveliest fic dealer one could ever ask for. It's been a long time coming.

_**brat** [noun] /bræt/_   
_: an ill-mannered, immature person, usually a child_

Oikawa Tooru is a brat.

A childish, annoying brat.

But that’s nothing Hajime doesn’t already know.

“It’s been, what, ten minutes?” Matsukawa asks, nudging his chin in the general direction of the scene unfolding. “How much longer are you going to let him do that?”

Hajime shrugs.

The practice match with the Johzenji volleyball team had gone really well, up until several Johzenji regulars came over to earnestly ask Oikawa to demonstrate his jump serves. Ever the petty brat, Oikawa had taken that as cue to start throwing badly veiled insults at them under the pretense of constructive criticism; spelling out and micro-analyzing every single error the Johzenjis made; having a little too much fun nitpicking on the losing team instead of being a gracious winner.

Oikawa shouldn’t be allowed. Hajime lets him anyway.

He knows Oikawa is acting extra bratty today, and giving Seijoh a really bad rep right now with his lousy sportsmanship, but Hajime will give him a pass since it’s Johzenji. Precisely because it’s Johzenji, the old (and recently rising again) powerhouse who once beat Shiratorizawa.

In short, Oikawa is jealous. Very, very jealous.

And so, even if his jealousy is terribly misplaced, Hajime thinks it’s best to let Oikawa get it out of his system right now, or he—more specifically, his ears—will be the one to suffer all the way home later. Besides, no harm letting Oikawa incriminate himself. Too many people are blindsided by his stupid face and flirty ways. If he wants to shoot himself in the foot, let people know his true bratty nature himself, by all means.

“I wonder what the ladies of Oikawa’s fanclub would say if they see him in action right now?” Hanamaki chortles, throwing a volleyball into the cart Kindaichi pulls up.

Without hesitation, the first year supplies cheerily, “Probably how Oikawa-san is such a nice and cool senior to point out his opponents’ weaknesses so they can work on them and improve!” With that, Kindaichi gives them two thumbs up and runs off again chasing stray balls.

The third years let that sink in. A moment of silence, then a collective groan. It’s true—no matter what Oikawa does, he’ll always be the golden boy. Goddamn those Oikawa Tooru rose-tinted glasses.

“Well, at least the Johzenjis are coming to their senses. Look, they’re starting to catch on,” Hanamaki notes.

Matsukawa nods in agreement. “About high time, don’t you think? Oikawa’s been getting more and more impertinent with his choice of words.”

Hajime sighs. Maybe he does need to step in today after all.

“Really, your receives are so sloppy. All because you guys are clambering for the ball like greedy, brainless baboons. What is this, a zoo?” Oikawa says, turning his nose away in exaggerated disgust. “ _Simplicity & Fortitude_? More like _Scrambling & Flailing_!”

The Johzenji team splutters indignantly, brain-to-mouth coordination failing spectacularly at the jab. Which is not surprising, since Oikawa happens to excel in riling people up and leaving them hopping mad yet speechless. What an infuriatingly annoying manchild.

With that said, rude as it may be, Oikawa isn’t actually wrong. Ever since the addition of one infamous thrill-chasing Terushima, the Johzenji team has been building up quite the reputation for their recklessness on the court, and they know it. If anything, their manager, third year Misaki Hana, keeps them plentifully updated on exactly how many points they’ve lost because of their internal competitiveness, judging by her exasperated nagging during time-outs and breaks. Interestingly, Terushima’s enthusiasm in talking to Oikawa about his jump serves still hasn’t waned. He doesn’t even seem fazed by Oikawa’s continuous belittling of his team. Why the hell is Terushima even hanging onto every word Oikawa is saying? Is he that blind to the fact that Oikawa is shitting on his achievements?

No, that’s not it.

Hajime sees the look on Terushima—the second year knows he’s being taunted, yet he’s still being incredibly civil, that easy smile never sliding from his face. Hajime kind of likes him. It seems he’s more mature than the rumors suggest.

Definitely more mature than Kiddykawa, that’s for sure.

Terushima puts Hajime at ease, so he takes his eyes off Oikawa to check on the juniors’ clean-up progress. Hollering encouragement and scooping up stray balls, Hajime approaches one of the Johzenji ball boys lingering nearby. “Hey, pass the balls under the bench. I’ll put them away.”

“Oi, first year!” Oikawa calls out right then, voice laced with a hint of petulance that gives Hajime a bad feeling. “Iwaizumi is one of the best wing spikers of our year, not a measly ball boy like you. Do it yourself.”

For fuck’s sake.

“Oikawa!” Hajime growls, turning angrily. Never has his urge to spike a volleyball into Oikawa’s obnoxious head been as strong as it is right now. In fact, a concussion sounds like a really good idea.

Of course, this is but an empty threat.

As much as Hajime wants to, it will not do to embarrass the coaches or sully Seijoh’s reputation. The bimonthly sports column would have a field day reporting on how the vice-captain of Seijoh’s volleyball team knocked out his own captain at a practice match outside school grounds, not to mention the backlash from Oikawa’s horde of fangirls. Hajime can already hear them: _who even is that Iwaizumi? How dare he hurt our precious Oikawa-san! Let’s burn him at the stake at dawn!!!_

Hajime’s head throbs just thinking about it. No can do.

Resigned, Hajime throws one last glare at Oikawa, then turns back to apologize—only to find it might be a little too late for that. By the dirty look Hajime’s given, it seems the Johzenji first year is already nurturing a healthy dose of resentment against him. Without breaking eye contact with Hajime, the first year picks up the balls as instructed, and proceeds to lob them as far away as he can aim. “ _Fetch_ ,” he spits out, spiteful and malicious.

Okay, so. Not just a healthy dose. A stroke-inducing dose. He _really_ hates Hajime. Point taken.

Then and there, three things happen at once.

One, the Johzenji regulars react in horror, alternating between yelling at their first year and frantically apologizing to Hajime.

Two, Seijoh’s third years stiffen. Then, Matsukawa and Hanamaki whisper in unison, “Oh no, shit’s about to get real.”

Three, Oikawa drops his haughty façade, and promptly blows up.

“What did you just say, you puny one-celled organism?” Oikawa snaps, stomping over with fists tightly clenched, legs digging back to support his weight.

Realizing Oikawa is about to launch himself at the first year, Hajime grabs him before he can get too close, holding him back by the waist. Taking stock of their surroundings, Hajime is glad he can’t find the coaches anywhere inside the gym, and that the spectators in the stands above have left. The last thing Oikawa needs right now is a suspension for disorderly conduct, or worse, fighting.

“Calm down, Oikawa,” Hajime orders, ever the voice of reason.

“Iwa-chan, let me go!” Oikawa fumes. “This little rat needs to be taught a lesson!”

Adding oil to fire, the first year refuses to yield, taunting Oikawa despite the Johzenji regulars trying to stop him. “Best wing spiker, my ass! Iwaizumi isn’t even in the national top five, not to mention top three. He sucks, just like you do, Oikawa. You’re so full of shit, talking big like you’re such a big shot on the court. Look at you right now, you can’t even get to me! I bet you’re just pretending you can fight. Bastard!”

Struggling against Hajime’s grip, Oikawa snarls, “You! I swear I will rip out that filthy mouth of yours. You aren’t even on the bench yet you have the nerve to trash talk Seijoh’s ace? Iwaizumi Hajime is the best wing spiker _ever_. Screw you, you mediocre piece of toerag. Apologize right now!”

Now, on a normal day, Hajime is able to overpower Oikawa. Not easily, of course, since nothing is easy around Oikawa, but he gets the upper hand eventually.

A raging Oikawa though, that’s a different story.

Anger radiates out of his entire being, pulsating hot and fierce. It’s like every molecule in his body is jumping out, infecting the air with his ire, dyeing everything blustering red. Oikawa is about to really lose it, and if Hajime can’t calm him down soon, there’s going to be an actual brawl even he cannot prevent nor stop. Hajime can do magic with a stubborn, anxious, insecure, whiny, sad, childish, overly excited, pompous, up-to-no-good Oikawa, but he most definitely does not want to deal with an angry Oikawa, a hellborn hurricane unleashing its wrath on humanity. Good luck taming that.

“Enough, Tooru,” Hajime urges urgently, still holding him tight. “Let it go.”

Before Oikawa can do more damage, Hajime forcefully surrenders him to Matsukawa, watching as the latter drags the still yelling Oikawa out of the gym, flanked by half the team. The other half gathers around Hajime, backing him up. Hajime appreciates the gesture, but he’s not going to let a fight happen today. Not on his watch, and especially not when they are guests on Johzenji grounds. If the discipline master finds out, the whole team will meet a fate worse than death at his hands. Even thinking about the kinds of intensive drills they’ll be forced to do makes Hajime shudder. Definitely not worth it.

Assured that Oikawa is safely out of sight, Hajime sighs, calmly turning back to the Johzenjis. Now that he isn’t preoccupied with a feral Oikawa, it’s time for damage control.

“Hey, sorry about Oikawa. I’ll apologize on his behalf—he shouldn’t have said that. Be it ball boy or wing spiker, there is no position that is more superior or inferior in volleyball. Also, you’re right. I’m far from being the best, and I still have much to work on. In fact, that includes _all_ of us here, seeing how none of us actually made it to the top yet, don’t you think?” Hajime pauses, letting his words sink in before continuing, “Oikawa’s a different story though. He earned his bragging rights fair and square as one of the best setters of our prefecture. Of course, that doesn’t come easy. If you had the slightest inkling as to how much sweat, time, and effort he invests in his training, you wouldn’t be speaking so carelessly.”

Clocking the sour expression on the first year, Hajime reckons he has made his point fairly clear. “Aite, that’s enough drama for today. We’ll be taking our leave now. Thanks for having us today.”

Acknowledging the Johzenji regulars with a curt nod, Hajime herds the rest of his team towards the exit. As an afterthought, he turns back and says pointedly, “By the way, contrary to how he looks, Oikawa can pack a punch, both off and on the court. I say this in your interest, it’s best to stay out of his way.”

With that, Hajime leaves the gym, impatient to get to Oikawa. That should be decent enough a warning. If the first year is stupid enough to go head-on with Oikawa even after his advice, that’s his own problem. Hajime has done his part.

Outside, Hajime finds Oikawa pacing restlessly, Matsukawa keeping a vigilant eye on him. When he sees Hajime, Oikawa freezes in place, scanning him intently from top to bottom with frantic eyes. Knowing what Oikawa is searching for, Hajime opens his arms wide, saying, “I’m good. They didn’t touch me. We just had a quick talk.”

As expected, Oikawa doesn’t pay heed to his words, opting instead to stare accusingly at Hajime, eyes conveying his mistrust, as if saying _I know you’re lying to me, Iwa-chan_. Slowly shifting around Hajime, Oikawa peers into his jersey and runs his hands gently over his body and face, searching for the injuries (note: non-existent) he thinks Hajime might’ve sustained in the few minutes or so that he was forced to be away.

Hajime lets him.

If he tries to stop him, Oikawa would only become more adamant and paranoid that Hajime is hiding something from him. Hajime knows Oikawa isn’t going to believe a single word he says until he sees and confirms for himself. If it means giving Oikawa reassurance, Hajime doesn’t really mind the scrutiny, even if they are in public and the juniors are watching curiously. If anyone seems to find Oikawa’s behavior weird, no one is saying a single word about it right now, and Hajime appreciates that.

Except Hanamaki, of course. That smug bastard, always ready with a comment or two when it comes to Oikawa. Hajime secretly gets a good laugh out of the ridiculous nonsense he comes up with. Unless that shit is directed at him, which is the case when he teams up with Matsukawa and Oikawa to roast him. Then they can all shove cacti up their asses and die.

“Damn Oikawa, your Slytherin is showing. What’s with the trust issues? Iwaizumi won’t lie to you,” Hanamaki laughs, shaking his head at Oikawa’s antics. “If anything, he was the one who K.O. the first year. Beautifully, if I may say so myself.”

Oikawa makes a small sound of acknowledgement, rounding up his spot check. He stares at Hajime for a second, then abruptly shoves him away, stomping up the bus childishly without a second glance back.

“What the….” Hanamaki says, pulling a face. “Iwaizumi, tell me that’s not the start of a Tooru Tantrum.”

“He’s fine. I’ll handle it,” Hajime waves it off, ushering the team onto the bus. “Everybody, get on. It’s getting late, let’s go home.”

“Hey! Iwaizumi-san, hold up!”

Hajime turns around at the mention of his name, surprised to find Terushima calling out from a distance. Signaling for the others to go ahead, he waits as Terushima jogs to the loading bay where the Seijoh bus is parked.

“Iwaizumi-san, hey. Sorry for our first year,” Terushima sheepishly apologizes. “That was like, super rude of him. We’ll talk to him about his behavior today. Make ‘em run more laps or something.”

Oh, this is unexpected.

“Uh, it’s cool, man. Oikawa kinda started it first, so it’s not like we’re saints. Thanks for coming out here though, I appreciate it,” Hajime replies gruffly, caught off guard by Terushima’s apology. This kid is really making an impression today. “Good game today. See you at Interhigh?”

“Hell yeah, cya at Interhigh!” Terushima cheers, looking relieved. Glancing up, he lets out a startled laugh. “Damn, the whole bus creepin’ on us. You better go, Iwaizumi-san.”

Waving goodbye, Hajime boards the bus, apologizing for the delay. After a quick headcount, a brief report to the coaches that all is present and accounted for, several reminders to the restless juniors to sit properly and quit staring at Terushima, and a fist bump with Matsukawa, Hajime finally slides into his seat next to Oikawa at the back of the bus, heaving a huge sigh of relief. It’s been a long ass day. He can’t wait to shower and have dinner and ignore all the homework he has piled up.

As the bus pulls out of Johzenji High, Hajime spots Terushima still standing there, bowing slightly as he sends them off. _That one’s a good bean_ , Hajime thinks.

On the road, Oikawa keeps up his sulking act, obstinately ignoring Hajime. This suits Hajime fine. He settles in, closing his eyes to rest for a bit. Oikawa would crack soon. Stubborn as he is, Oikawa can never bring himself to ignore Hajime for long.

Sure enough, halfway back to school, Hajime feels Oikawa mindlessly tracing patterns on his forearm. Without opening his eyes, he asks, “Is that first year important to you?”

Immediately, Hajime gets a response. Reeling in horror, Oikawa exclaims, “Iwa-chan, are you out of your mind? Of course not! He can rot in a ditch for all I care.”

“Oh yeah? If he’s so unimportant, why such a strong reaction?” Hajime challenges. “Why do you care so much about what he says?”

“Because he’s wrong! You’re a great wing spiker, Iwa-chan. Everyone on this bus knows that for a fact. You’re Seijoh’s _ace_ , for goodness sake.”

“Exactly. The people that really matter knows, and that’s good enough, isn’t it? We don’t need to prove anything to that first year we literally just met for the first time today, or to anyone else who doesn’t give a shit about us,” Hajime reasons. “Our worth should not be contingent on some random nobody passing judgement on us. Does it make sense to bend over backwards to prove ourselves to a person of little importance in our lives?”

Oikawa falls silent at that.

Hajime doesn’t press him for a response, letting him mull over what he just said. Oikawa will speak when he’s ready to. Shuffling deeper into his seat, Hajime shifts around to find a more comfortable position. Man, he is so ready to sleep through the weekends.

As the silence drags on for a tad too long, Hajime’s senses start to tingle. It’s a weird feeling, like he’s being watched. Cautiously opening his eyes, Hajime flinches to find not only Oikawa but the entire team goggling at him, most of them cramped into the last few rows, kneeling in the seats and peering over the headrests like meerkats. By the looks of it, the whole freaking bus has been listening to him preach to Oikawa the whole time like he’s some overzealous youth pastor. Great, why is his instinct never wrong?

Hajime thinks he’s going to die of embarrassment, and he fully blames Oikawa for it.

It’s Oikawa’s fault. It’s _always_ his fault.

Oikawa’s fault for kicking up a fuss at the practice match. Oikawa’s fault for sulking when it’s partially his fault things ended on a low note. Oikawa’s fault for always insisting on sitting right in the center at the back, because he likes the thrill he gets from the extreme bouncing in his seat whenever they pass a road hump.

Each and every reason leading up to Hajime’s current predicament, of feeling very exposed and awkward with nowhere to hide, is because of Oikawa. So yes, it’s his fault.

(Do not even dare suggest Hajime sit elsewhere instead of beside Oikawa. That one time he sat in front with the coaches to discuss the summer break training schedule, that petty little shit secretly snuck a shitload of fucking glitter later that night in his uniform, shoes, textbooks, pencil case, bag, _everything_. School was a nightmare the next day—everything he touched exploded in glitter. Shittykawa was so smug and pleased, saying Hajime was shining like a pretty Twilight vampire, whatever the fuck that was. It took him one whole week to get most of it off. Till this day, his bag still shimmers under sunlight, if you look close enough. Whoever invented this potent shit must have a grudge against humanity.

So yes, excuse him if he’d rather sit beside Oikawa for the rest of his life than anywhere else, thank you very much. Hajime is not about to suffer through another glitter prank. That shit is annoying as fuck to clean up.)

Masking his embarrassment with irritation, Hajime barks out, “Sit properly, you doofus. It’s dangerous.”

“Okay, dad,” Hanamaki teases, causing the team to snicker. Needless to say, none of them brats actually complies.

Hajime rubs his face hard. He isn’t paid enough to babysit these idiots. Scratch that, he isn’t paid at all. Is it too late to quit this stupid team? Someone, anyone, please, let him quit.

“Well said, Iwaizumi! As expected of the vice-captain!” Coach Irihata praises, his voice carrying all the way to the back from the front. Hajime immediately shoots up from his slouched position. “T-thank you, sir!” Goddamn, what kind of godly hearing range is that?

“Iwa-chan, I’ve always thought your big head only contains Brutish People Things but you can actually say smart things once in a while! Congratulations, you’re not that stupid after all!” Oikawa rejoices, clapping his hands in glee.

“I will end you, Crappykawa,” Hajime growls, slapping Oikawa on the back of his head. “Stop trash talking the other schools. What if a fight really broke out just now?”

“Well, Iwa-chan is my defending knight, so you’ll fight for my honor as I cheer you on from the side, of course!”

“What the hell? Why do I have to fight for your stupid ass honor? Do it yourself, dumbass.”

“Iwa-chan, I can’t possibly risk injuring my beautiful face in a boorish brawl!” Oikawa gasps dramatically, hands cupping his own face protectively. “Anyway, you’re the brawn to my beauty, so obviously you do the heavy lifting. That sort of thing is, ahem, beneath me.”

Hajime gapes in incredulity. “You—I—Wow. _Wow_. You really are a Trashykawa.”

“How rude!”

“Don’t even think for a second you’re off the hook. The next time we meet the Johzenjis, you are going to apologize for being a little shit.”

“Don’t wanna!”

“Does that sound like a request to you?”

“You’re so mean to me, Iwa-chan! Why can’t you be a cute, loving, sweet boyfriend instead of a Paleolithic Age brute? I bet you don’t even know what that means.”

“That’s it, I’m throwing you off the bus.”

Oikawa quickly rearranges himself, flopping down over Hajime’s lap. Looking up, he smiles with confidence. “No you won’t. You love me too much to do that.”

“Shut up, you’re annoying,” Hajime grumbles, even as he slings an arm around Oikawa’s waist to secure him in place.

“What even is this conversation? It’s so stupid, my brain cells clocked out,” Matsukawa comments, scrunching up his nose. “Are you guys done? There are other people on this bus too, you know.”

“I agree with Matsukawa-san. Please stop with the domestic bickering,” Kunimi deadpans, fixing a hollow stare on Hajime and Oikawa. “Kindaichi still can’t differentiate between actual fighting and the usual banter. You’re going to make him cry again.”

Everyone burst out laughing at that, drowning out Kindaichi’s feeble protest.

As the attention shifts away from them, Hajime feels a tug before fingers slide smoothly across his palm to interlock with his own. Looking down, Hajime’s heart stutters as he takes in the sight of Oikawa cradling their intertwined hands to his chest absentmindedly, doe eyes crinkling in amusement, chocolate hair fanned out over Hajime’s lap. A dull ache presses deep within Hajime, a sensation he is well accustomed to when it comes to Oikawa.

 _I am so in love with you, I don’t know what to do with myself_ , Hajime silently confesses.

Hajime doesn’t love in pastels and flowery language, nor in romantic poetry and dramatic confessions. He doesn’t know how. He is sharp words and stoic attitude, rugged and simple and mundane. To many, Hajime is but a misfit orbiting Oikawa’s star, one of the many hopelessly drawn in by his dazzling core. _Why does Oikawa hang out with Iwaizumi_ , they ask. _He could do so much better than spend all his time with that stony-faced boy_ , they say.

They know nothing. Faceless passersby standing at the fringe of Oikawa’s life, arrow-like words prodding at his bubble, trying to weasel their way in somehow. Everybody wants a piece of the golden boy, even if the golden boy doesn’t want to give himself away, even when they know nothing about him.

They know nothing of the way Oikawa toddled into the Iwaizumi household for the first time with those chubby feet, shyly peeking up through those long lashes as their mothers introduced them to each other for the first time. They know nothing of the way Oikawa burst into tears on the first day of kindergarten when Hajime made a new friend, because he thought that meant they weren’t best friends anymore. They know nothing of the way Oikawa always insisted on following Hajime on his bug hunts in the woods back in those days, even though he absolutely hated the mud and the humidity and the insects. They know nothing of the way Oikawa has to say goodnight to Hajime or he won’t be able to fall asleep, or that he sleeps better in Hajime’s bed than his own. They know nothing of the way Oikawa likes to spring kisses on Hajime when no one else is looking, or the way he sulks and becomes extra clingy and demands kisses when Hajime receives the occasional confessions, even though he gets confessed to all the time.

The list goes on and on. Bottom line is, they know nothing.

Hajime never feels the need to jostle for space or attention with his fellow orbiters. Why should he, when he knows he’s the only satellite the star really has eyes for? It is never about what he has to do to close the distance to Oikawa; it is everything about how Oikawa doesn’t ever let him stray out too far, always tugging at him with his gravity pull, keeping him locked in his orbit.

They know nothing, and they don’t matter. They really don’t. Not when Hajime knows for a fact that Oikawa wants him, needs him, craves for him.

To love, is to embrace, to protect, and to cherish. To love, is to tolerate, to guide, and to persevere. To love, is to accept and to compromise.

Sure, it’s a pain in the ass having to clean up after Oikawa’s path of destruction, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. There is no light without darkness, and Hajime would rather love Oikawa wholly than in half.

Loving Oikawa is never easy. Nothing is ever easy around Oikawa.

But is it worth it? Without a doubt.

A series of vibrations from his pocket knock Hajime out of his reverie, and he carefully fishes out his phone without jostling Oikawa too much.

 _2 unread messages from Hanamaki_.

 **Hanamaki**  
> lovesick_iwa_1382.jpg  
> new wallpapr  
> ur welcome

Hajime studies the photo attached, a mirror image of his and Oikawa’s current position, taken from Hanamaki’s perspective. Oikawa looks at ease in it, invested in his quest to turn Kindaichi into the reddest tomato, yet so tightly pressed up against Hajime, one cheek smushed into his lap. _He looks right at home_ , Hajime marvels. There’s really no other way around it—Oikawa looks like he belongs, right here, right now, spread out over Hajime’s lap.

 **Hanamaki**  
> oi  
> ur so predictble smh  
> stop starin at oikawa  
> look at urself!!!

Irked and embarrassed by how spot-on Hanamaki is, Hajime scowls at him. Unfazed, he urges Hajime to look at the photo again with a slight nudge of his chin. Not without reluctance, Hajime does as he is told. It takes him a while to focus, because he’s really not interested in looking at himself, until he truly sees what Hanamaki wants him to see, and time screeches to a halt.

Oh.

Head tilted downwards, attention completely pooled towards Oikawa, the tiniest hint of a smile, gaze fond yet incredibly intense. It’s painfully obvious photo-Hajime was struck with a serious bout of tunnel vision, that in that moment he neither saw nor cared about the ongoings of the universe, because all that mattered was the boy in his lap. As Hajime stares at himself looking at Oikawa with such adoration, words he’d never associate himself with comes to mind.

Soft.

Gentle.

Mellow.

Pining.

Lovesick.

Damn it. He really is so fucking gone for Oikawa. In slight panic, Hajime looks at Hanamaki to find him smirking, a knowing look on his face. Hajime scowls again.

 **Iwaizumi**  
> shut the fuck up

 **Hanamaki**  
> sHuT tHe FuCk Up  
> ur ttlly freaking out rn

 **Iwaizumi**  
> tell me this is a one time thing  
> tell me i don’t look like that when i look at him

 **Hanamaki**  
> dude  
> delusion doesnt lk gd on u  
> we been tellin u since a mil yrs ago man  
> u always ignore us like the lil bitch u r

 **Iwaizumi**  
> fuck  
> FUCK

 **Hanamaki**  
> cream, eggs, M/sub, u  
> guess wht they hv in common  
> ALL WHIPPED  
> lololololololol

 **Iwaizumi**  
> i will murder you in your sleep  
> with no fucking remorse

Looking Hanamaki dead in the eye, Hajime flips him off, causing the third year to chortle.

When Oikawa nudges Hajime gently in the stomach with a puzzled look, he simply shrugs and brushes Oikawa’s hair out of his eyes. Tilting his screen so Oikawa can’t see, Hajime steals another glance at the photo, then discreetly saves it before pocketing his phone.

(If Hajime sets it as his home screen wallpaper later that night, no one has to know.)


	2. turbulence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: fighting, injuries, blood

_**turbulence** [noun] /ˈtɜː.bjə.ləns/_  
_: irregular atmospheric motion, especially characterized by up-and-down currents_  
_: a state of commotion and disorder_

Hajime has a love–hate relationship with Mondays.

Monday means no volleyball practice, so he gets to rest and catch up on all the homework he should have but most definitely did not do during the weekends. Monday means Oikawa goes to the community center to coach, so it is the one and only day of the entire week Oikawa isn’t buzzing around him, talking his ears off about the most bizarre and irrelevant things (last week’s ‘ _how does Gyarados tastes like, Iwa-chan?_ ’ led to a two-hour online search, multiple heated debates with fanatics lurking on Pokémon forums, and a record-breaking lifetime ban from all of them). Monday means he gets to spend time alone after school, doing whatever he likes, and as he pleases.

But Monday means no volleyball practice.

Even worse, Monday means no Oikawa.

Hajime hates Mondays.

The familiar ache in his chest irks him. Hajime can’t believe Oikawa got him out here behaving like a goddamn lovesick fool.

“Shittykawa, Trashykawa, Assikawa. I’m going to beat you up when you get home, just you wait,” Hajime mutters under his breath.

It’s so unfair, really. It’s not like Hajime didn’t try. He did, he really did. Try as he might, not even throwing himself into his grueling physical training routine for two hours straight at the school gym could clear his head of a certain cheeky manchild with a penchant for all things alien and milk bread. Speaking of which…

Lifting his head, Hajime takes in the extra puffy clouds hanging leisurely in the sky, white contrasting starkly against blue. Days like this, Oikawa always craves for milk bread, because ‘ _Iwa-chan, the clouds look like milk bread! If I can’t eat clouds, I will eat milk bread!_ ’.

(Hajime didn’t bother wasting his brain cells trying to understand Oikawa’s logic back then, and he sure isn’t about to start now. Who knows what goes on inside Oikawa’s head. Probably milk bread and aliens and volleyball and how to crush Kageyama and Ushiwaka. Typical nerd.)

If Hajime remembers right, Oikawa finished his last milk bread yesterday after dinner, and since he doesn’t have time to go to the bakery today, he won’t be able to have his snack. Which means he’s going to call, or worse, barge into Hajime’s room to whine for hours about his “tragedy”. Which means Hajime won’t get the peace and quiet he deserves.

Well, that settles it. Looks like Hajime is going to the bakery. While he’s at it, he might as well pop by the grocery store. God knows Oikawa needs healthier alternatives to balance out his diabetes-inducing snack habits. Hajime is fully prepared to force a whole bag of mini carrot sticks and cherry tomatoes down Oikawa’s throat for every milk bread he eats.

Plan set, time to execute.

Stretching his sore shoulder muscles, Hajime sets off, whistling softly.

“Oi!” an unfamiliar voice calls out. “Iwa-chan!”

Wrong.

Wrong voice, wrong tone, wrong person.

Who the _fuck_?

Here’s the thing about habits—it takes about sixty-six days on average for one to be established, give and take. Surpassing the baseline, Hajime has spent almost his entire lifetime responding (disclaimer: with varying degrees of enthusiasm) to each and every pet name Oikawa comes up with for him, the longest-running and Oikawa’s current favorite being a simple ‘Iwa-chan’.

In the words of psychologists, Iwaizumi Hajime is habituated to Oikawa Tooru’s ‘Iwa-chan’.

(In the words of Hanamaki Takahiro, Iwaizumi Hajime is whipped.

In the words of Iwaizumi Hajime, Hanamaki Takahiro can fuck right off.)

A lifelong habit is a strong force to be reckoned with. It dictates a knee-jerk reaction, an immediate and instinctual response.

It is also conditional. That is, only Oikawa’s ‘Iwa-chan’ matters.

Other variations? Moot. Into the non-recyclable trash where they belong.

Hence, although Hajime comes to a halt on the pavement, because ‘Iwa-chan’ means Oikawa wants his attention, he doesn’t particularly feel the urge to turn around to respond. What he does feel is what seems like every functioning cell in his body protesting, screaming at him to fix things, because only Oikawa gets to call Hajime ‘Iwa-chan’, and Hajime should only respond to Oikawa’s ‘Iwa-chan’. Funny how something as small as a pet name can sound so annoyingly endearing when Oikawa says it, but so different, so wrong, and so grating out of somebody else’s mouth.

Despite the itch to ignore the caller and go on his merry way, Hajime actually wants to know who has the guts to address him as such. Even Hanamaki and Matsukawa know not to cross that line, not when everybody knows Iwaizumi Hajime’s ire is the stuff of legend. Back tingling, Hajime turns to find five boys posturing, flexing what little arm muscles they have and twisting their necks, cliché movements straight out of a B-rated movie fight scene. Hajime recognizes these guys. They were present at last week’s practice match with Johzenji. First years, the newest addition to the Johzenji volleyball team; three non-regulars on the bench, two ball boys.

“That’s Iwaizumi- _san_ to you first years,” Hajime replies coolly, keeping his tone even and his face blank. To address a senior with such blatant disrespect, it’s obvious these boys are trying to get under his skin. No need to play into their hands.

The first years snicker. “Aww, is _Iwa-chan_ shy? But that’s what Oikawa calls you, isn’t it? Did we hurt _Iwa-chan’s_ itzy bitzy feelings? Boohoo!”

Hajime clenches his jaw, trying to cool his fast-rising temper. “If there’s anything you guys want with me, say it now. I don’t have time to stand here all day listening to y’all act like immature three-year-olds.”

That seems to sober them up. The ball boy that Oikawa antagonized last week steps up, eyes narrowing. “Now, now, Iwa-chan. No need to be rude. We just want to have a nice little chat with you.”

The irony is not lost on Hajime. He decides to ignore that for now. “Then get to the point.”

“Last week, Oikawa was talking shit about Terushima-senpai’s spikes, so we came to see for ourselves just how great Aoba Johsai’s ace is for him to be acting like a bitch on our turf.”

Right, Hajime vaguely remembers Oikawa going on and on about how unruly and uncouth Terushima’s spiking style was.

(Terushima had laughed it off like a good sport. Interesting, that guy.)

Yet another hornet’s nest Oikawa stirred up. Yet another nuisance awaiting Hajime to clean up. So, yet another normal day then.

“You wanna see how I play, sit in when Seijoh has a match. I don’t do demonstrations outside the court,” Hajime says, impatient to go on his way. The bakery puts out a fresh batch of milk bread every three hours, and he’s cutting it close to the next release because of this holdup.

As Hajime makes to walk away, ball boy steps in his path, physically blocking him off.

“I’m not done talking, you bastard. You think we’re here to ask for your guidance? No fucking way,” ball boy rants, spitting on the ground, barely missing Hajime’s shoes. “That’s the problem with you people, always thinking you’re so much better than others. Fucking bastards.”

Leveling ball boy a hard stare, Hajime focuses on keeping his breathing steady, an anger management tactic he drilled into Kyotani. _He’s just baiting you_ , Hajime reminds himself. _Don’t do it, do NOT do it. There’s literally no point in throwing hands. Use your words, Hajime._

Exhaling, Hajime says, “Your inferiority complex is showing.”

Okay fine, so Hajime said that on purpose, knowing it’d rile up the younger. Yeah, yeah, that was a petty move. So what? Give him a break, he’s being cursed out in the streets by this random first year he barely knows. At least he’s returning the favor with words, not punches.

“What the fuck did you just say?” ball boy seethes, cracking his knuckles. “Fuck this, it’s high time Aoba Johsai knows its place, in the dirt under Johzenji’s feet. Starting with you, _Iwa-chan_.”

Hajime cringes in secondhand embarrassment. “A word of advice, lay off those yakuza movies. I don’t think your language teachers will appreciate the shoddy vocabulary you’ve acquired.”

At that, ball boy lunges for him, except Hajime simply steps to the side, and he misses.

“You need to calm down,” Hajime cautions. “We’re in public.”

“I don’t need your advice! Shut the fuck up!” ball boy shouts, looking livid and embarrassed at missing his first shot.

Too easy, way too easy. Can you blame Hajime for lowkey enjoying this?

Perhaps tired of going back and forth with Hajime with no end in sight, ball boy exchanges scheming glances with his posse. Immediately, Hajime knows they’re going to come at him all at once. Damn it.

“I don’t want to fight. Back off,” Hajime warns.

It doesn’t work.

One moment Hajime is trying to persuade them to leave him alone, the next moment they’re rushing at him, all at once. For fuck’s sake. Their numbers work to their advantage, confusing Hajime for a second. He hesitates, not knowing which one packs the most punch, or who to be wary of the most. Not wanting to accidentally hurt anyone, he plays it safe and just shoves hands and bodies away from him whenever they get too near. _Don’t get trapped, don’t get trapped_ , Hajime reminds himself repeatedly, scanning for an opening to escape the mass of bodies clambering to get to him.

Darting to the left, Hajime manages to dodge multiple fists aimed at his stomach, but then an elbow comes down hard on him between his shoulder blades, the force making him stagger and bow over. That’s the moment of vulnerability the first years need, a torrent of punches raining down on his back as Hajime instinctively shields his head with his arms. Little fuckers. For a brief moment, he contemplates letting them hit him until they’re done venting their angst, which would hopefully deescalate the situation. Then, just as quickly, he pushes the idea away. It sounds stupid even just thinking about it.

_Dude, are you a punching bag? This is why Matsukawa always says you’re too soft in the heart for your own good._

Slowly being pummeled to the ground, Hajime grimly realizes he’s going to end up between kicking limbs at this rate if he doesn’t fight back, which can end up even deadlier than a fist fight.

_Get your shit together, Hajime. You are NOT a punching bag._

One way or another, it seems like this isn’t a fight he can get out of anymore. Hajime may be outnumbered, but if he’s going down, he sure as hell won’t be going down alone. Grabbing an offending limb from behind at random with practiced ease, Hajime twists sharply, grimacing as a loud pop goes off. Ugh, it never gets easier. A distressing yowl causes everyone to pause, then the first years look on in horror as one of their own—the other ball boy—falls against the fence, clutching his dislocated shoulder. Hajime takes the opportunity to put some distance between himself and the first years, reorienting with a much needed deep breath. Fuck, his back is already feeling it.

“Sorry, kid. I didn’t have a choice,” Hajime apologizes. “It’s just shoulder subluxation, not a complete one. You’ll still need medical attention though. Will you guys stop now, for the sake of your friend? I really don’t wanna fight.”

It doesn’t pay to be the good person in a fight, because next thing Hajime knows, four of them rush at him again, swinging their fists wildly. Hajime sidesteps two, but isn’t fast enough to avoid the biggest of the group, a lanky first year whose build kind of reminds Hajime of Karasuno’s blond middle blocker. Before he can react, lanky boy grabs him by the collar and slams his fist into his nose. In retaliation, Hajime kicks him in the knee with controlled force, causing him to stumble backwards. Feeling petty, Hajime follows up with a satisfying punch right across lanky boy’s face. Just as he’s about to do it again, someone grabs him around the midriff, biting down so hard on his left shoulder that Hajime is sure it’s going to leave a mark.

What the fuck? God, first years are so fucking weird.

Disgust rolling off him in waves, Hajime jams his elbow firmly backwards, nailing bitey boy in the ribs. The younger yelps in pain, releasing Hajime from his hold. He rotates his shoulder, trying to shake off the phantom feeling of teeth on his skin. Bitey boy recovers fast, coming up from behind again with lanky boy to wrestle and lock Hajime’s arms behind his back. As they struggle against Hajime’s superior arm strength, ball boy swoops in unceremoniously, punching Hajime across the face repeatedly without the slightest hesitation. Fucking opportunist.

To Hajime’s surprise, it doesn’t hurt as much as he was readying himself for. Hajime has to say, he’s pretty sure ball boy doesn’t know how to properly punch someone, seeing how his thumb is tucked tightly in his fist. Good, that idiot can break his finger for all Hajime care. Feeling his nose, jaw, and back throb angrily, Hajime winces as blood drips from his nose and the corner of his cut lip. Fuck, Oikawa’s going to be so upset. Shifting his body weight, Hajime swings his right leg up, viciously kicking ball boy in the stomach. The sheer force has the latter flying backwards, landing near dislocated shoulder boy’s feet. _Ha, it’s a ball boys’ reunion_ , Hajime bitterly thinks.

Just as he twists around to deal with Dumb and Dumber, something hard strikes Hajime from behind. His head instantly explodes, vision saturated in static white. Hajime drops to the ground as his knees give out, clutching his head as if this would lessen the pain. A piercing ringing in his ears disorients him, so much so it takes Hajime far longer than usual to realize he’s being kicked from all sides. The first years are merciless, digging their filthy shoes into his back, stomach, chest, everywhere and anywhere they can reach.

It hurts, it really hurts.

There’s not one part of Hajime that’s not hurting right now, every kick adding to the pain his body is forced to take on. He tries, and tries, and tries some more, but every time he thinks he’s got a stable enough grip to push himself up, or enough strength in his limbs to try crawling out of this shit storm, a foot slams down hard, forcing him back down to the ground.

Hajime tries, in vain. It’s impossible. He’s trapped.

The world goes into intermittent darkness, focus slipping despite his herculean effort to stay conscious. Hajime desperately wants to give in and slip under, wants to stop struggling to keep his eyes open. He’s in so much pain, he just wants it to go away. But he doesn’t. He hangs onto the fraying rope, the last of his strength, praying, wishing, waiting. For what, Hajime doesn’t know. All he knows is he’ll know when it comes, and that it will come. He doesn’t know how or why he knows, he just does.

“Iwa... Iwa-chan…?”

A voice, hesitant and trembling, ever so lovely. Like a glass of ice water on the hottest day of summer, like the first bloom of spring, it soothes and slakes his desperation.

Oh.

Was it him the whole time?

Drawing strength from overwhelming relief, Hajime lifts his head, looking up into disbelieving eyes. _To-o-ru_ , he mouths weakly. At the back of his mind, Hajime knows he should turn away, that he shouldn’t be letting Oikawa see him in this state, all bloodied face and trampled body. He should, he shouldn’t, it doesn’t matter. Oikawa is here. Even the devastation on his face is beautiful, so much so Hajime can’t take his eyes off him.

An elongated shadow falls upon Hajime just then, and at the same time, Oikawa darts forward, prying away a wooden plank from Hajime’s assailant. Ah, so this was what knocked him out.

“Don’t you fucking touch him!” Oikawa snarls, crouching protectively over Hajime.

Startled by Oikawa’s unannounced appearance, the first years stagger backwards, unsure of their next course of action yet unwilling to give up and let things rest.

Gently wiping the blood off Hajime’s face, Oikawa calls out softly, voice wavering so subtly only Hajime can catch, “Iwa-chan. Iwa-chan?”

Somehow, it’s getting much harder to stay awake, the allure of the dark increasing tenfold. Hajime suspects it’s got everything to do with Oikawa’s presence, the sheer comfort and reassurance he’s feeling from their proximity diluting the adrenaline coursing through his veins.

_Ah shit, so sleepy._

Still, Oikawa’s calling, and it’s ingrained in Hajime to respond to his very wishes, so he forces his eyelids open, sleepily looking up. Face devoid of emotions, the only hint to the turbulence beneath lies in Oikawa’s eyes, glinting with sadistic intent. It’s unnerving, the calm before the storm.

“You okay?”

To be honest, he’s not. Still, there is only one correct answer here. Hajime nods.

“Then stay awake. Watch me, Hajime. Don’t you look away,” Oikawa commands. “They’re going to regret what they’ve done to you when I’m finished with them.”

To the first years, Oikawa says plainly, as if he’s simply tabulating scores on the court, “For every hit Iwaizumi took, you dirtbags are going to receive three times as much.”

Ball boy, who clearly has too much useless pride, retorts, “As if you can take on all of us!”

 _He can, you peabrain_ , Hajime tsks, rolling his eyes in irritation. Why did he even try? He warned that stupid first year, yet here he is, goading Oikawa into a fight. Is it a thing for first years to be reckless across all high schools? Can it not be a thing? Who set this rule? Take it back, whoever it is. He’s too old for this shit, damn it.

Raising an impeccable eyebrow, Oikawa replies, “Well, here’s your chance to find out.”

Slowly getting on his feet, Oikawa’s aura turns electrifying, charged with ill intent. With thirsty vengeance, he swings the wooden plank into plank boy’s face at full force, causing it to splinter on impact. “Huh, that was easy,” Oikawa comments, seeing plank boy collapse to the ground like a paper doll. Unbothered, he throws the ruined plank aside, sauntering towards the remaining first years.

Lying limply on the pavement, Hajime idly wonders how terrifying Oikawa’s expression must be right now. _Very, and then some_ , he concludes. Enough to freeze the first years to their spots even when Oikawa is already pulling his arm back to throw a punch. Hajime knows that conflicting sensation, mind blaring warning sirens to move out of danger’s way, but body uselessly rooted in place, unable to budge a single step. It’s futile. Any self-preservation instinct is no match for the hypnotizing effect of Oikawa’s menacing aura. Hajime has been on the receiving end of Oikawa’s intensity—for lack of a better word—more than one’d expect given their dynamics, and he gets whiplash every single time, what more these first years who’ve only seen Oikawa in his composed captaincy on the court.

Beware the hurricane, beware the storm.

It’s funny how people assume Hajime’s the one prone to aggression when things don’t go his way, and Oikawa’s the angelic sweetheart. If only they knew. Well, now they know. At least, the first years quivering in their shoes.

Nothing is safe in the path of a howling, hungry hurricane. 

_Welcome to the[devil’s playground](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TZ4gbXRHXNY), kids._

Unlike Hajime who fights with instinct (and a kinder heart to boot), Oikawa fights with his head. Every move is calculated and precise, razor-sharp to deliver maximum damage. Hajime fights to resolve adolescent tension between hot-headed high schoolers; Oikawa fights to inflict pain. There’s a reason why Hajime makes sure he’s present when Oikawa stirs shit up. He’d rather pick up pieces of bruised ego than dead bodies. Of course, Oikawa has never crossed that line. It’s just, sometimes, just sometimes, he gets this bloodthirsty look in his eyes when he’s too caught up in his head, and that rattles Hajime.

It’s easy to tip over the edge, and Oikawa loves prancing along the cliff, swaying in the wind. Hajime swears he’ll anchor him to safety, if that’s the last thing he does.

Cries for help, and gradually, pleas for forgiveness saturate the air, a cacophonous declaration of Oikawa’s triumph. A crueler man would mock the first years, bravado now replaced by distress and helplessness. Hajime simply pities them, scattering in all directions but never able to outrun Oikawa’s violence. This must be Oikawa’s personal best, five high school athletes quite literally beaten out of commission in approximately seven minutes flat. Broken noses, black eyes, scraped limbs, dry heaving, bloody faces, purpling bruises. So many bruises. So much blood.

Plank boy looks close to fainting, having taken the brunt of Oikawa’s wrath. He really shouldn’t have played dirty using a weapon—Oikawa hates that. Lanky boy and bitey boy aren’t faring that well too, both on their knees, dry heaving and gasping for air. Dislocated shoulder boy somehow thought it was a good idea to reenter the fight, and ended up with a bloody nose and two black eyes. Though not unscathed, ball boy seems to be the only one Oikawa barely touched. Strange.

“Round one down, two more to go,” Oikawa announces casually. “Don’t go deflating on me now. Where’s the fun in that?”

Towering over ball boy, who got away with only a black eye, Oikawa grabs his arm roughly and whispers conspiratorially, “Real talk, I lowkey wanna tear your shoulder apart so you can twin with your buddy over there. Won’t that be nice?”

Ball boy lets out a whimper at that, shaking uncontrollably.

“I’ll only say this once, so you best remember this for the rest of your pathetic life,” Oikawa says, cold and unfeeling and intimidating. “You have beef with me, you come straight for me. Don’t go attacking my people behind my back like a coward. I, Oikawa Tooru, do not tolerate such despicable behavior. Have I made myself clear?”

Ah, so that’s why the boy was left out.

A proud cheetah in the savanna, Oikawa prowls, prodding and playing with his prey before the kill. How cruel. How typical. After all, the words ‘forgive’ and ‘forget’ do not exist in Oikawa’s dictionary. No doubt he’s piecing the puzzle together, linking this incident back to last week’s altercation at Johzenji.

Tightening his grip, Oikawa digs his nails into ball boy’s arm. “Which is your dominant hand?”

Ball boy shakes his head agitatedly, wide-eyed in fright.

“Hmm…. You don’t know?” Oikawa muses. “I’ll just break both then! It’s one or the other anyway. It doesn’t matter to me.”

At this point, ball boy starts blubbering, tugging frantically at his arm, trying in vain to remove himself from Oikawa’s grip. He looks so pathetic, so young, so full of regret that Hajime can’t bear to watch in silence any further.

“Oikawa, stop,” Hajime says weakly, still winded from the fight.

“Don’t you dare,” Oikawa hisses at Hajime, going from deceiving calmness to irrepressible rage in a split second. “Don’t you _dare_ ask me to let this go. Don’t you _dare_ speak up for them. They don’t deserve your forgiveness.”

Holding an arm up and away from ball boy’s body, Oikawa twists his torso and raises his foot, aiming straight at ball boy’s shoulder joint.

_Fuck, he’s going to blow out that kid’s humerus at this rate._

Scrambling to his feet with newfound strength, Hajime throws himself at Oikawa, tackling him to the ground. Incensed, Oikawa flips Hajime onto his back, pinning him down easily, eyes wild. “What. The. Hell.”

“You weren’t holding back at all!” Hajime yells. “That would’ve been a complete dislocation, you dumbass!”

“You clearly missed the memo,” Oikawa snaps back. “That’s the whole freaking point.”

“They’re just kids!”

“So are you, stupid!” Oikawa shouts. “Age doesn’t mean a damn thing! They didn’t care, so why should you? Why should I?”

“Still, you shouldn’t hurt them unnecessarily! What makes you any different from them then?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Oikawa insists. “I’ll kill anyone that hurts you.”

“Tooru!” Hajime gasps, dumbfounded by Oikawa’s declaration.

“Do you even know how you look right now?” Oikawa demands, eyes fast filling with unshed tears. “A hot mess, that’s what you are.”

Hajime’s inner monologue goes like this: _oh shit, Tooru’s crying—oh shit, Tooru’s crying because of me—oh shit, Tooru’s crying because of me in public._

If there’s one thing that crumbles Hajime’s willpower faster than you can say “spike!”, it’s Oikawa trying to hold back his tears. Pulling him in by the scruff of his neck, Hajime shields Oikawa’s face from view, leaning his head against his chest. He lost. He concedes defeat. How can he not, after all that Oikawa’s said?

Turning to the first years who’ve been stupidly watching them quarrel instead of taking the chance to sneak away, Hajime says irritably, “What the hell are y’all doing? Get the fuck out of here already!”

Geez, talk about zero survival instincts.

Coming to their senses, the battered first years quickly pull each other to their feet and flee down the street. Holding Oikawa to himself, Hajime makes sure all five of them disappear around the corner before loosening his grip, sagging into the ground.

Fuck, Hajime really hates Mondays.

“They’re gone, aren’t they? You let them go,” Oikawa says accusingly, still slumped over Hajime, the fight in him extinguished. Not fully, just some. Still, it counts for something.

“Mm.”

“I hate you.”

“Okay. Let’s go home, I’m sleepy.”

“No.”

“No?”

“Doctor first.”

“Oh, okay. I don’t think I can walk though.”

Lifting his head, Oikawa relents with a small smile, wobbly and affectionate. “I’ll be your legs, Hajime.”


	3. guilt complex

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: mild description of injuries

_**guilt complex** [noun] /ˈɡɪlt ˌkɑːm.pleks/_  
_: intense guilt at having done wrong, whether real or imagined_

A visit to the family clinic does nothing to reassure Tooru. _A possible concussion_ , the doctor had warned as the nurses busied themselves with patching up Iwaizumi’s wounds. Tooru had insisted on staying in the consultation room with Iwaizumi, and no one had the heart to remove him. More like, no one bothered. Not that they’d succeed. Tooru’s incessant hovering aside, Iwaizumi had held his hand tightly the whole time, refusing to let go. Perhaps it was because Iwaizumi was too worn out to care, or because he felt safe and free from potential judgement in the company of familiar people, grownups who’ve tended to his and Tooru’s health growing up. In any case, they held hands, two teenage boys on their final lap of adolescence, not yet adults yet no longer children, seeking tactile comfort from the other.

When the nurses took off Iwaizumi’s clothes, Tooru barely held back from crying aloud. Splotches of revolting purple, red, and grey littered across his body, skin starting to swell from repeated abuse. Tooru’s eyes roved over Iwaizumi’s marred body, committing each and every wound he sees to memory. He hated every single one of them, and the one he hated most was the bite mark, teeth indentation deep and visible on Iwaizumi’s left shoulder. It left a sour taste in his mouth, igniting his streak of possessiveness. Although he had lots to say at that point, Tooru kept it in, suppressing his jealousy and anger with concerted effort. What Iwaizumi disliked more than anything was being a public nuisance, so Tooru had held his tongue and let the nurses do their job without interruption, cleaning off blood and treating Iwaizumi’s injuries, alongside Tooru’s own bloodied knuckles.

Now, as they trudge back home, Tooru bearing much of their combined weight wordlessly, the doctor’s advice keeps replaying in his mind over and over. Plenty of fluids, bed rest, no physical or mental exertion (‘ _yes, Iwaizumi-kun, this means you have to take time off from volleyball practice for at least a week, two to be on the safe side_ ’, ‘ _no, Iwaizumi-kun, this is not up for negotiation_ ’). Even though the doctor had highly recommended taking the next few days off school, Iwaizumi politely declined, something Tooru isn’t happy about. On top of that, he flat out refused to be carried, so all Tooru could do after five minutes of squabbling outside the clinic was to put his arm across Iwaizumi’s waist, letting Iwaizumi lean on him as they slowly make their way home.

_Typical Iwa-chan, so stubborn._

“You’re thinking too loud,” Iwaizumi mumbles. “Quit sulking already.”

“I said I’ll be your legs, Iwa-chan. You’re not letting me do my job,” Tooru says crossly. “I want to piggyback you, please?”

“I told you, that’s bad for your knee. You’re already supporting most of my weight anyway.”

“I want to be your legs, not your crutches,” Tooru whines, pouting about not getting his way.

“Tooru.”

“Yes?” Tooru pipes up, hopeful.

“No means no. Learn how to accept rejection when it comes your way.”

“Bleh, I hate you.”

“Is that why you’re making me stand outside my own front door in this heat?” Iwaizumi asks, raising an eyebrow. “Are you done? Can we go in now?”

Looking up, Tooru finds that they’ve indeed arrived home. Oops. Keying in the code, Tooru helps Iwaizumi in, lining their shoes side by side neatly. Gently depositing Iwaizumi on the couch, Tooru gives express instructions for him not to move. “Wait here, Iwa-chan. I’ll get us drinks.”

“Oh yeah, mom made—”

“MY FAVORITE HONEY LEMON TEA!” Tooru shouts in elation, naruto-running into the kitchen. Skidding to a stop in front of the fridge, he claps his hands together to give thanks to Iwa-mama before opening it in excitement. There, right in the middle, sits the jug of liquid gold. Score! Carefully, Tooru pours a huge cup of homemade goodness for himself, then fetches warm water for Iwaizumi.

“Here, Iwa-chan,” Tooru offers, handing over Iwaizumi’s cup as the latter reads off a small post-it stuck to the coffee table. “Mom and dad—”

“Went to visit Iwa-granny and will be home late tonight,” Tooru smoothly finishes as he plops down on the couch.

Iwaizumi blinks. “What the. How do you know these things before me?”

“It’s because we’re soulmates, Iwa-chan!” Tooru exclaims. “Soulmates read each other’s minds and finish each other’s sentences!”

“You and your soulmate fantasy,” Iwaizumi says, shaking his head.

Taking a gulp from his cup, Tooru explains, “Iwa-mama called earlier. She said the tea is my reward for babysitting you tonight.”

“Babysit, my ass. Oi, why do I only get water? I want tea too,” Iwaizumi requests, reaching out to grab Tooru’s cup, only for Tooru to lift it out of his reach. “Greedykawa, give it to me!”

“Iwa-chan, cold drinks are not good for the injured. You must drink hot soup and herbal tea and eat nourishing food to help you recover.”

“The hell? You sound like a grandpa peddling folk remedies.”

“Meanie! I’m doing this for your own good.”

“Fine, fine, I’ll have the water,” Iwaizumi gives in, taking a sip from his own cup to mollify Tooru.

Reaching for the remote, Iwaizumi switches the television on, flipping through channels absentmindedly. Tooru studies him closely, deciding now would be the best time to carry out his plan. A relaxed and distracted Iwa-chan is more likely to go with the flow. Tooru’s flow, in this case.

“Iwa-chan, do you want me to run you a bath?” Tooru asks sweetly.

“Nah, it’s fine. I showered after gym. Don’t wanna wash off the medication anyway. I’ll shower before bed later.”

“Then at least change out of your dirty clothes? I’ll go get clean clothes for you.”

“Later,” Iwaizimi replies, attention snagged on an ongoing volleyball match on the sports channel.

“Can’t you do it now?”

“I said later, Oikawa,” Iwaizumi brushes him off, raising the volume to hear the commentary. “They’re at match point.”

“Okay, then take off your shirt?” Tooru suggests, not without a bit of desperation. He’s running out of ideas to get Iwaizumi to strip without catching on to his plan. “You always take it off when you get home from outside.”

“Nah, I’m good.”

“Iwa-chan, take it off, please? Pleeeeeease?” Tooru whines, resorting to clinging and pleading. “You’ll feel more comfortable too.”

Annoyed, Iwaizumi tsks. “Watch the damn match, Oikawa. I’m not taking my shirt off.”

“No, no, no!” Tooru insists, feeling more distressed by the minute. He really needs to do this now, or his jealousy will burn him up. “Take it off, Iwa-chan, take it off!”

“Geez, what is _wrong_ with you? Fine, alright, I’ll take it off,” Iwaizumi relents with a slight frown. “You’re not going to like it though.”

“Nonsense! I was born ready to love your body, Iwa-chan!” Tooru says with much confidence.

“How can you say such things with a straight face? Do you not feel any shame?” Iwaizumi huffs, fingers at the hem of his shirt. “Are you sure?”

Too impatient to wait any further, Tooru slaps Iwaizumi’s hands away. “So slow!”

Carefully so as not to hurt Iwaizumi, Tooru helps him out of the shirt, flinging the hindering top behind him without a care once it comes off. Finally!

Victory is sweet, yet fleeting. Tooru’s satisfaction is quickly taken over by distress again, now for a very different reason. Looking at Iwaizumi’s bruises in plain sight, Tooru begins to feel upset all over again. It must show on his face, for Iwaizumi says, “See? You’re upset again, that’s why I didn’t want to take it off. Let me wear my shirt. Out of sight, out of mind.”

“No!”

“Oikawa, stop it,” Iwaizumi chides, grasping Tooru’s chin in his hand firmly. “Why are you behaving like that?”

“There’s something I need to do,” Tooru pouts. “But you’re not letting me.”

“And what exactly am I not letting you do?”

“I… I want to…” Tooru mumbles, suddenly embarrassed by the way he’s behaving. He ought to be ashamed of himself, pestering Iwaizumi when he should be letting him rest. Still, that bite mark is bothering him, and he won’t be able to stay still if he doesn’t do something about it, so he says as much. “That stupid bite mark, I don’t like it. You’re mine, so it should be my mark on you, not that brat’s. I want it gone.”

Iwaizumi sighs. “I don’t like it either, but there’s nothing we can do about it. Doc said it’ll take some time for the mark to fade, remember?”

“I could, you know, kiss it away. Like a special mark, from me to you. Ornotitsnobigdeal,” Tooru quickly adds on, feigning nonchalance at how much he actually wants to do it.

_Please say yes, please say yes, Iwa-chan, please say yes, I’ll be good, please just this once!_

At that, Iwaizumi laughs, finally understanding the situation. “Is this why you kept insisting I take my shirt off? You could’ve just told me, you know. Go ahead, do whatever you want. I’m all yours.”

“I know it’s weird, I just—wait, did you just say I can?” Tooru gapes at Iwaizumi, like a child given permission to open his birthday presents early. “Can I really?”

“Yeah.”

“Like, _really_ really?”

“Like _really_ really,” Iwaizumi affirms, parroting Tooru. “Honestly, it’s such a small thing, Tooru. You don’t even have to ask.”

Tooru swoons, giddy with joy. “Iwa-chan, such a smooth talker! You can’t say these words to other people, okay? And you can’t let them kiss you too!”

“Who would I even say this kinda stuff to?” Iwaizumi asks in bewilderment. “Only a weirdo like you would thirst over me like this anyway.”

Tooru snorts. Clueless Iwa-chan, back at it breaking hearts. What are those people in his fanclub then, chopped liver? Heh, he doesn’t even realize they exist. Poor things.

Taking extra caution, Tooru shifts Iwaizumi slightly, shuffling around to get a better look at his shoulder wound. Placing a palm on Iwaizumi’s good shoulder, Tooru feels his body heat emitting, the warmth a source of comfort. As gently as he can manage, Tooru traces a finger across Iwaizumi’s back, gliding over smooth skin and toned muscles, outlining the discolored bruises.

_They should’ve come for me. I should be the one bearing all these bruises. I’m sorry, Hajime._

Tooru hates this. He’s so conflicted, anger and worry fusing into a black hole of angst in him, yet he cannot bring himself to speak up. He wants to ask if Iwaizumi is still in a lot of pain, if he’s mad at him, if he’s disappointed in him. But he doesn’t. He can’t. He’s so scared of the answers he might get. And so, Tooru chooses to bury his head in the sand and pretend his problems don’t exist. Healthy coping mechanisms, amirite?

“Iwa-chan, what are you going to tell Iwa-mama and Iwa-papa?”

“Dunno. I won’t see them until tomorrow afternoon at the earliest anyway, so that’s a problem for future me to deal with.”

“What’s future Iwa-chan planning on doing then?”

“Dunno, don’t really care,” Iwaizumi shrugs. “Oh yeah, come for dinner tomorrow. Dad’s making fruit tarts for dessert.”

“You just want me at dinner so I can distract them from asking you too many questions about the fight, isn’t it?” Tooru jokes. “Am I just a convenience to you?”

“Maybe,” Iwaizumi teases.

Smiling, Tooru lays a kiss on Iwaizumi’s shoulder bandage, light as a feather. Once doesn’t seem to cut it, so he does it again. And again, and again, and again, until he loses count. Still, it doesn’t seem enough, jealousy roaring fiercely in him all the same. Frustrated, Tooru starts pecking the sides of the bandage, leaving no skin uncovered. When even that doesn’t quell the green monster wreaking havoc in him, Tooru decides to plaster Iwaizumi’s entire back with love bites, licking and sucking to his heart’s content as he works his way down.

_Who am I kidding? A simple kiss isn’t going to satisfy me. I’m going to mark Iwa-chan all over because he’s mine, and because I can._

Red, the color of affliction.

Red, the color of love.

Tooru can’t turn back time, can’t erase the red forced upon Iwaizumi. What he can do is add his splash of red to the canvas, one that says _I’m sorry, I love you_ a thousand times over. Grazing over Iwaizumi’s sensitive spot, one he knows will get him hot and bothered, Tooru worries the skin between his teeth, then suckles on the mark, soothing it.

“Tooru, _please_ ,” Iwaizumi groans. “Behave.”

Perking up at his given name being called, Tooru beams at the sight of Iwaizumi clenching his fists tightly, knuckles white, ears red at the tips. Inspecting his work, Tooru feels a thrill of pleasure seeing varying shades of shy red trailing down Iwaizumi’s back. His marks. God, Tooru _really_ wants Iwaizumi. “You know, you can always just take me right here instead of holding back. We don’t even have to go upstairs. One word from you, and I’ll strip.”

“No,” Iwaizumi gives a curt response, disgruntled. “We agreed on this.”

“But—”

“ _Tooru_.”

“Fiiiiiiineeee, I’m _sooooorry_ I got _too_ carried away.”

“Drop that attitude and try again. You don’t sound very sorry.”

“That’s because I’m not at all sorry,” Tooru admits, giggling as he presses his lips to the base of Iwaizumi’s neck. “Iwa-chan, it’s not enough. Can I ask for something else?”

“Mm?”

“Can I kiss away this mark every day until it fully fades?” Tooru asks hopefully.

“You wanna do this _every day_?”

Iwaizumi’s tone of incredulity would’ve disappointed him, if not for the fact that Tooru can literally feel his heart beating faster by the second. _Just what are you imagining, Iwa-chan?_ Not one to miss the golden opportunity, Tooru nips his ear, whispering as sensually as he can manage, “Please?”

A forceful shiver sweeps through Iwaizumi, goosebumps sprouting over his bare skin. Involuntarily gasping, he accuses, “It’s not beneath you to seduce me to get your way, huh?”

Tooru grins, knowing he won. “Nothing wrong with seducing my own man. All’s fair in love and war, Hajime. You should be glad I want to make sweeeeeet love to you, not war.”

“Stop. Just stop, you heathen. Do whatever you want, just stop.”

Shaking with mirth, Tooru cuddles Iwaizumi tightly, planting more kisses along his neck. “Thank you, Iwa-chan.”

They settle comfortably in that position, Tooru spooning Iwaizumi, letting the noise from the televised match wash over them. One team wins, the other loses. The rhythmic life cycle of a volleyball match starts and ends with the ball. Tooru wonders if there will come a day when he and Iwaizumi would face the same ball on the court, on opposing sides. If that day ever comes, would he win, or would he lose? Without Iwaizumi by his side, is he brave enough to smash through his obstacles? Conquer the world? Take down new and old opponents alike?

What will happen to them in the future, no one knows for sure. Would his Iwa-chan still be his, years down the road from today? Would he want to stay with someone who only knows how to get him in trouble, someone who disappoints him time and again?

Things have never gotten so out of control before. It has always been the both of them facing the fight together, no matter the situation. He’d never thought the Johzenjis would come after Iwaizumi like that, and for something _he_ did. Jumping a senior in broad daylight, that’s crazy. Tooru’s hands itch at the thought of those punks. If only Iwaizumi didn’t stop him, Tooru would’ve made sure those boys learned to never raise a hand to anyone again. Then again, he’s lowkey glad Iwaizumi was there to stop him from dealing the last blow. Admittedly, his teaching method seemed a tad too violent, now that Tooru can think straight.

Anyhow, Tooru doesn’t regret going feral on them. He did what he did, and said what he said—no take-backs. There were no other alternatives. In that moment he locked eyes with Iwaizumi, bloodied and trampled on, his world burst into flames. Hot and blistering, anger consumed him in a fraction of a second, wholeheartedly burning him up from within. In that moment, he wanted nothing more than to burn the first years down to ashes, so that was exactly what he did. Kind of, if only Iwaizumi didn’t stop him. Tooru remembers what he did, and what he said. He means every single blow, every single word. He regrets nothing he did to them.

What Tooru regrets is bringing this upon Iwaizumi.

God, he’s so unbelievably self-centered and stupid, running his mouth off about the pettiest things that don’t even matter. How many times has Iwaizumi told him to cut it out? How many times have Matsukawa and Hanamaki warned him that people see them as an unit (rightfully so), that Iwaizumi would be inextricably implicated if trouble worms its way back to him?

Tooru never listens. He never does, because he’s complacent. He knows very well how much of a brat he is, acting out without a care in the world. People think that’s because he’s confident in himself, that he believes he’s the very best there is.

They’re wrong.

Oikawa Tooru is the way he is because he knows and trusts that Iwaizumi Hajime will be there to catch him when he messes up. The one who keeps watch over him, who reels him in with tough love when he runs wild; the one who believes in him more than he believes in himself, who supports him with a sturdy hand on his back, always. When things go terribly wrong, Tooru doesn’t need to look to know Iwaizumi is right there where he needs him to be, and if Iwaizumi is there, Tooru doesn’t need to think about consequences. Whatever goes wrong, all is well, because Oikawa Tooru has Iwaizumi Hajime, his eternal knight, his keeper, his soulmate.

In the vortex, Iwaizumi is his constant.

Tooru is a brat bundled up cozily like a burrito in his security blanket called Iwa-chan. The luxurious cashmere kind that keeps you incredibly warm and makes you feel so treasured and expensive. He imagines Iwaizumi must be the same, his Tooru blanket draped around his shoulders like a cape. Except Tooru is a trash-grade security blanket. The scratchy kind that makes you toss and turn all night long, grumbling in your sleep about the discomfort, finally kicking it off the bed altogether. The kind that is not even long enough, leaving half of your body constantly exposed to the chill of the night. The Tooru blanket is so useless, it makes him want to cry in shame.

Tooru should’ve been there with Iwaizumi, taking on the first years together, shielding him from danger. If only he was there with him from the start, Iwaizumi wouldn’t have suffered so much. Tooru should’ve been there to protect the most important person in his life—but he wasn’t. Instead, he was coaching a bunch of snotty children how to receive a ball. Flirting with a gaggle of fangirls. Taking his time to stroll home because he was soaking up the attention he was getting. He knew Iwaizumi would be waiting for him, and that was what he chose to do anyway.

It’s suffocating, the guilt. It hurts with every breath, knowing how much he has failed Iwaizumi.

Above that, it’s the anxiety of potentially losing Iwaizumi that is really causing Tooru to feel like he’s going insane. He’s not that insensitive and self-absorbed to not know he’s really gone and done it this time. Not only did he drag Iwaizumi into this mess, he wasn’t even there for him when things went south. Had it been Tooru being jumped, Iwaizumi would’ve been right there guarding his back, no doubt about it.

When the receiver takes and takes, and the giver gives and gives, there will come one day when the giver is left with nothing more to give, squeezed dry. That’s when they run out of hope and give up; that’s when they leave. His Iwa-chan might not want to be his anymore, which to be honest, Tooru doesn’t blame him. He wouldn’t want himself too, not after the chaos he caused.

It’s debilitating, the fear. How does it feel to lose your soulmate? Tooru hopes he never has to find out, even with the way things turned out. He’ll take that 0.1% chance Iwaizumi would still want to stay despite everything. The alternative is too devastating to accept. The thought of navigating the future without Iwaizumi sickens him. He really doesn’t want to lose him. He can’t.

He might.

“You’re thinking too loud again,” Iwaizumi grumbles, reaching back to tousle Tooru’s hair. “Nothing is going to happen. I’m here with you, on the couch, watching this match. Everything is fine, Tooru. Breathe.”

Oh, _again_?

Curiosity getting the best of him, Tooru asks, “What do you mean by that, ‘thinking too loud’? How do you even know I’m thinking? Can you read my mind?!”

Throwing Tooru a look of bemusement, Iwaizumi elaborates, “When something is bugging you, your body goes rigid like you’re preparing to fight someone, except that someone is yourself. Your breathing also becomes shallower, like you’re forgetting to breathe because you’re so caught up in your head. Even without touching or looking, I just know. It’s—it’s just a vibe I can sense? I don’t know, now that I think about it, everything seems so abstract.”

In hushed awe, Tooru whispers, “I knew it, we _are_ soulmates.”

“Oikawa, there’s no such thing as—”

“Iwa-chan, we are SOULMATES!” Tooru exclaims, literally vibrating with excitement at this revelation.

_If we’re soulmates, there’s no way Iwa-chan would throw me away. He won’t not want me. Soulmates are each other’s lifelines. No matter how annoying or disappointing I am, he’s stuck with me._

“Oi, you’re doing it again,” Iwaizumi says crossly. “Are you doing this on purpose? Stop it, it’s annoying. It’s doing weird things to my brain or something.”

“I can’t help it! My thoughts are tumbling all over my brain like jelly beans rolling down the hill.”

“I don’t give a shit. Stop it,” Iwaizumi says. Tacking on an afterthought, he continues, “Thanks for saving my ass, by the way.”

Blindsided, Tooru chokes, “Huh?”

“I said thanks for saving me, dumbass. Don’t pretend like you didn’t hear me the first time.”

_No, Iwa-chan. Why are you thanking me?_

“Man, I would’ve been so dead if you didn’t turn up in time. Totally didn’t see that plank coming. Well, obviously, since it was a sneak attack from the back. Maybe I should go back to jujitsu. Remember when you were into it for like, two weeks? Fun times, seeing your ass get kicked by the seniors. You used to cry like a sore loser every single time.”

_If I didn’t turn up in time? What are you saying, Iwa-chan? I was so late, I couldn’t protect you._

“I guess this means you get boasting rights. Don’t be too annoying about it though, I’ll smack you.”

_Stop, don’t be so nice to me. I don’t deserve this._

“Oi, are you listening?”

“Iwa-chan, I’m sor—” Tooru cuts himself off, unable to finish his sentence, He can’t say it. He’s not ready for this conversation. He’s nothing but a wimp. “I—I mean, of course you’re not as badass as me. I’m sure if you work hard for another fifty years, you’d be able to become half the man I am.”

“You’re insufferable,” Iwaizumi retorts, turning onto his front to wrap his arms around Tooru’s middle, head nestled on his chest.

_I know. I’m sorry._

“Why the hell can’t I fall asleep when I’m this sleepy?” Iwaizumi grumbles into Tooru’s shirt. “Isn’t the TV noise supposed to help? White noise? Pink noise?”

“Not if you’re actually focusing on the match,” Tooru says, threading his fingers through Iwaizumi’s hair. “Close your eyes, I’ll hum you to sleep.”

“Mm. If I fall asleep, wake me when you need to go.”

“Don’t you worry. Sleep well, Iwa-chan.”

_I never want to leave._

Iwaizumi is the harbour, the lighthouse, and the anchor to Tooru’s storm-wrecked ship. He is the firefly to Tooru’s dancing figure in the woods. Perhaps years later, when he’s done growing up, Tooru might be able to say with confidence that he can manage just fine on his own. A solo explorer, trekking through the dense jungle of adulthood, etching his solid footprints in the mud. Not now. Right now, the best Tooru can do is skip along the pavement of familiar childhood, hand firmly grasped in Iwaizumi’s, taking the next step together. He wants to be protected, and he wants to protect. There’s still so much he wants to do together. Or rather, that’s what he wants, to just be together.

Right now, Tooru isn’t ready to let go of this pair of warm hands. He won’t. He refuses.

(The million-dollar question is, will he ever be?)

_I hope you never want to leave too._


	4. catharsis

_**catharsis** [noun] /kəˈθɑːr.sɪs/_  
_: the process of releasing strong or repressed emotions, thereby gaining relief_

Lulled by Oikawa’s humming, Hajime’s eyes start to droop, until a single thought flashes bold and glaring across his hazy mind. Sleep clears out immediately, and Hajime tenses.

Shit, he totally forgot.

Jumping up, Hajime winces as a jolt of pain shoots up his left leg from the sudden movement. Fuck, that really hurts.

“Iwa-chan?” Oikawa asks, understandably confused.

“I forgot your milk bread,” Hajime explains. “Was on the way to the bakery to stock up your snack box when those first years cornered me. I’ll go get ‘em now. Be right back.”

Unfortunately, before he manages to even take a single step away, Hajime finds himself being yanked backwards, falling right into Oikawa’s lap.

“Fuck, Shittykawa, that fucking hurts!” Hajime cries out, cursing in pain. “Why the hell did you do that for? Let me go!”

Wiggling around, Hajime tries to free himself from Oikawa’s death grip around his waist, to no avail. After a minute or so at attempting to escape, Hajime throws in the towel. He just got beaten up, and his energy drained. Truth be told, he is too freaking tired to walk out to the bakery right now. If Oikawa wants to cuddle, that suits him just fine.

“Fine, no milk bread for you,” Hajime huffs. “See if I care when you whine to me at ass o’clock when your stupid craving hits.”

With that, Hajime settles in Oikawa’s arms. Or tries to. His collar feels icky and wet, and Oikawa is uncharacteristically silent.

Something feels wrong.

“You better not be drooling on me,” Hajime warns, turning around to glare at Oikawa. “I swear I’ll—Tooru?”

Oikawa has always been an ugly crier. Hajime has not met any other who can beat Oikawa in this department, and he’s convinced he won’t be able to find one that can. Oikawa Tooru is _the_ world champion of ugly crying, if there ever exists such a competition. Eyes red and raw, tears streaking down his face, snot flowing freely, lips trembling. What a sight.

As a man with priorities, naturally the first thing Hajime does is to whip out his phone, and snap a rather unflattering shot of Oikawa from a rather unflattering angle. Leverage secured.

(Not that Hajime ever really uses any of them against Oikawa. Hajime knows it, and so does Oikawa. But no way in hell will Hajime ever admit he likes taking candid shots of Oikawa for keepsake. That’s for lovesick fools, and Iwaizumi Hajime is not one. Nope, definitely not.)

Knowing he won’t be able to get a coherent response until Oikawa calms down, Hajime simply cradles his face and waits. _Five minutes_ , Hajime determines.

Sure enough, Oikawa gradually stops crying, leaning his head on Hajime’s shoulder. Sniffing, he says, “You’re so mean, Iwa-chan.”

Hajime grunts, running his hand through Oikawa’s tousled hair. Instantly, Oikawa relaxes further into Hajime, a familiar weight against his chest. His breathing evens out, but it takes another minute before Oikawa speaks up.

“You are so good to me, Hajime. So, so good. Even when all I do is create problems for you, you’re always there guarding my back—and now you’re injured because I can’t keep my mouth shut. I’m sorry, I’m _so_ sorry. They should’ve come for me, not you. I hate this. I hate myself. I hate everything. I’ll hate myself for the both of us, so don’t hate me, okay?”

Hajime stills, stomach churning with unease as he imagines Oikawa being outnumbered and barely able to defend himself. Right there, he decides Oikawa is the world’s biggest idiot. _You need to be punished for planting that horrible image in my head, Stupidkawa_ , he thinks grimly. Grabbing a clump of hair, Hajime tugs.

“Owww, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa yelps, trying fruitlessly to slap Hajime’s hand away.

“Look at me,” Hajime growls.

Folding into himself, Oikawa obstinately keeps his eyes downcast. “No!”

Seeing Oikawa trying to make himself smaller and refusing eye contact, something snaps in Hajime. Urgent and demanding, he presses his lips to Oikawa’s, swiping his tongue across Oikawa’s lips. As Hajime expects, Oikawa denies him access, refusing to cooperate. This pushes Hajime’s frustration up a notch, but he knows why Oikawa is acting like this, so he can’t bear to blame him. Not when Hajime knows Oikawa is being difficult right now not because he doesn’t want to, but precisely because he does. Oikawa loves kisses. Forehead kisses, cheek kisses, morning kisses, post-practice kisses, date kisses, goodnight kisses, you get the idea. His favorite is the kind Hajime initiates. Any kind, as long as Hajime makes the first move. Hajime knows, because Oikawa tells him ‘ _it’s different, like a special reward for being good!_ ’ every time he wants Hajime to kiss him.

So no, this resistance isn’t because Oikawa doesn’t want it. It’s because he wants it, wants it really bad, in fact. This is self-inflicted punishment, because Oikawa thinks he doesn’t deserve anything from Hajime right now.

Oikawa Tooru is an idiot.

A stubborn, sullen idiot.

But that’s nothing Hajime doesn’t already know.

Aggravated, he nips on Oikawa’s bottom lip, not hard enough to draw blood, but painful enough that Oikawa gasps. Satisfied, Hajime licks his way into Oikawa’s hot, panting mouth, tasting the familiar sweetness that is exclusively Oikawa. Running his hand down Oikawa’s neck to the small of his back, Hajime smiles into the kiss as he feels Oikawa eagerly pressing himself into his embrace.

Looks like someone has caved. No surprises here—it’s always easy to topple Oikawa when kisses are involved in the equation.

Teasing, Hajime pulls back just as Oikawa begins to suck on his tongue in earnest. Oikawa whines at that, a needy sound so melodious to Hajime’s ears, grabby hands desperate for contact. He contemplates for a moment, then decides kissing his sad boyfriend silly takes priority over punishing him for being a stupid ass. After all, Hajime is a man with priorities, and his priorities are clear-cut.

Palm flat on Oikawa’s chest, Hajime pushes him back into the couch and straddles him across the lap. Tugging his hair, Hajime tilts Oikawa’s head back to better slot his lips against his. Oikawa squirms under him, eager hands encircling his neck to lock him in place. This time, Hajime takes it slow. He sucks on Oikawa’s bottom lip lazily, relishing the way Oikawa just lets him. He keeps to this pace, until Oikawa grows increasingly fidgety under him. At that, Hajime gently nips once, and that’s all it takes for Oikawa to part his lips. Further south, Oikawa’s growing bulge strains against the fabric of his pants. To relieve him of some pressure, Hajime carefully grinds down on Oikawa. Startled, Oikawa moans, rutting against Hajime on reflex, knocking their teeth together in the process. Displeased, Hajime pulls him back harshly by his hair, deepening the kiss in a show of dominance. Oikawa immediately becomes pliant, body keen and sensitive, tongue dancing in response to Hajime’s every move.

It’s easy to lose himself in Oikawa, the golden boy who has such an unrelenting grip on his heart. It scares Hajime sometimes, how much Oikawa means to him. Being with Oikawa is a lifelong learning journey, a slippery path of willfulness, confusing road signs of mixed signals, thorny roses of conceit and vulnerability growing alongside, brushing into their faces as they march hand-in-hand into the unknown.

Today has been a lot. Hajime isn’t ashamed to admit it was scary. Terrifying, even. As he laid there helpless and defeated, body taking blow after blow, he was sure he was going to die out there. He would’ve, if it wasn’t for Oikawa. For that, Hajime is thankful, and worried. At first, as he watched Oikawa enter the thick of the fray, he was worried Oikawa might injure himself, or worse, permanently damage his bad knee. Then, as he watched Oikawa take his anger out on those Johzenji first years, he was worried Oikawa might cause irreparable damage without Hajime to stop him in time. Most importantly, as he watched Oikawa fight back with unabated fury, he was worried the fire in Oikawa would eat away at himself; Hajime sees it in the way Oikawa refuses to meet his eyes, in the way his voice still quivers, in the way he is doubting himself.

Hajime doesn’t like this version of Oikawa very much.

As much as he would like to kiss Oikawa till the end of time, Hajime needs to straighten things out with him. A proper talk, or Oikawa will start to overthink and latch onto nonsensical reasonings again. The last thing Hajime needs right now is a guilt-ridden Oikawa shunning him for stupid reasons.

With great reluctance, Hajime breaks off the kiss, drawing back so Oikawa can’t reach him. Oikawa, however, is making things difficult for him. As usual, nothing is easy around Oikawa. Hajime has a hand on Oikawa’s chest to keep him from lurching forward, but the latter is already straining against him, chasing after the echo of their kiss. He looks ravishing, panting heavily from their little session, coupled with swollen lips and lust swirling in hooded, dark eyes. Hajime has to remind himself multiple times to calm down, and it seems Oikawa is equally affected, losing composure a lot faster than usual.

“Stop,” Hajime insists. “We need to talk first. It’s important.”

Taking in Hajime’s stony expression and the hand in his hair, Oikawa’s mouth drops into a perfect O, cheeks heating up. “Oh. Are you… We... I mean, um, now? I thought you said no. Changed your mind so soon?”

“Huh?” Hajime utters, raising a brow. As usual, Oikawa’s mood just went from zero to 100 real quick. “I said no to what?”

“I’m more than happy, Iwa-chan, you know I am. We could go a liiiiiiittle bit but maybe not all the way? You’re injured, after all. I don’t want you to overexert yourself for our first time, you know?”

“No?” Hajime’s confusion increases.

Either Oikawa is in a rush, or he’s straight up ignoring Hajime. Without easing Hajime’s confusion, Oikawa rambles on, going into monologue mode. Hajime doesn’t understand why Oikawa even bothers asking him questions if he’s just going to overlook them. Knowing Oikawa won’t stop until he gets everything out of his system, Hajime settles for his best alternative—he tunes out, choosing to watch the diving competition being broadcasted on the television instead. Oikawa who? The sports channel is Hajime’s true best friend.

“—not to say you _can’t_. You definitely _can_. Of course you can, you’re Iwa-chan! You can do whatever you want. You know I’ve been wanting this for the longest time too. It’s just—I’m just saying—you know...” Oikawa trails off lamely, pouting when he realizes Hajime has zoned out. Snatching the remote from Hajime, Oikawa switches the television off. “Iwa-chaaaan! Pay attention to me!”

“I will, when you’re done talking to yourself.”

“Heeeeey, I wasn’t talking to myself! We were having a very mature two-way conversation, Iwa-chan. As I was saying—”

Hajime has had it. He tugs sharply on the tuft of hair he has been petting the whole time, causing Oikawa to gasp.

“Enough,” Hajime commands. “I don’t understand what you’re saying. You are going to explain, in a concise manner, what the hell you’re rambling on about.”

Blushing, Oikawa stammers, “Uh, concise, right. Okay then… BDSM?”

Thinking slowly, Hajime consults his rusty and limited knowledge of Young People Language. It’s no secret Hajime is notoriously bad at those internet lingo and slangs the other Seijoh third years seem so fond of. Half the time he doesn’t understand what’s going on in their group chat—can’t blame him for muting their annoying asses. The mute option is practically godsend, what with all the nonsense that goes on in there.

(The ‘exit group’ option is, simply put, not an option. Trust him, he has tried. Every time Hajime quits the group chat, usually when the trio starts getting on his very last nerves, Oikawa adds him back almost instantaneously—and it always has to be him, or else. Once, Hanamaki accidentally added Hajime back first, and Oikawa kicked up such a fuss at practice that day, muttering about traitorous friends the whole time and refusing to set or talk to Hanamaki. The coaches let him get away with a lot of things, but even they have a limit when it comes to the Tooru Tantrums. To resolve the (technically, one-sided) tension between Oikawa and Hanamaki, Hajime left the group chat again just so Oikawa could add him back himself.

Another time, Oikawa got so upset that Hajime left the group chat without him noticing for three hours, he actually ran over to Hajime’s house close to two in the morning to confront him. To stave off a full-blown Tooru Tantrum for the sake of the neighborhood’s sleep quality, Hajime silently grabbed Oikawa’s phone, added himself back (using Oikawa’s forefinger, Hajime isn’t stupid), and pulled the pouting boy into bed with him for the night. That was the last time Hajime ever left the group chat.)

Still, Hajime isn’t one to back down from a challenge, even if the clue Oikawa gives is obscure at best. Hajime doesn’t have the slightest inkling as to what those four alphabets stand for, but he recalls Oikawa mentioning ‘ _first time_ ’, ‘ _wanting this for the longest time_ ’, and ‘ _overexert_ ’. So, the answer to the riddle must be…

Oikawa wants to try out a new sport?

It has been awhile, after all. Way before his heart set its sight on volleyball, Oikawa used to keep a nasty track record of picking up—and just as quickly abandoning—other sports along the way every few months. Naturally, being the brat he was (and still is), Oikawa made Hajime join him in whatever sport interested him at that moment. Thanks to that, Hajime is well-versed in an array of sports. Not that he’s complaining—these skills come in handy when taming Kyotani’s competitive streak.

“Basketball, dodgeball, soccer...” Hajime hesitates, trying to come up with a sport that starts with the alphabet M. English is not Hajime’s forte—his report card is a testament to that. “Miniature golf?”

That doesn’t sound right, and judging by Oikawa’s jaw-slacked expression, he is way off the mark. Hajime gives up. “Okay, not so concise.”

“Iwa-chaaaaaaaaaan! You’re so innocent, it’s like I’m tainting you! I feel so weird now!” Oikawa whines, wringing Hajime’s hands.

Hajime gives him a blank look. “You’re always weird anyway, so what’s new.”

“Meanie!”

“So?”

“So what?”

“Shittykawa!”

“Ugh, fine! I was talking about… about sex, okay? You were kissing me like _that_ , and grabbing my hair like _that_ , then you suddenly said it’s important to talk before continuing, so of course I thought you wanted to discuss our safeword and boundaries before we—I don’t know, try pain play? Maybe some spanking? Oooooh I would love that! I think I’ll die of happiness if you put me over your lap, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa lights up excitedly, then goes back to sulking again. “But then I was also worried about going in so rough from the start—pun totally intended—because it’s our first time, and especially since you’re injured. I was being considerate, Iwa-chan! Then you had to go and ruin the mood. You’re so mean to me.”

Brain damage is a thing, and Hajime is sure he is going to die young from that. His tomb inscription is going to read: _here lies Iwaizumi Hajime, brain dead from trying to make sense of all the shit Oikawa Tooru tells him on the daily_. How is it possible the more Oikawa explains, the more confused Hajime gets? He understands the words on their own just fine, but not in context. Putting Oikawa over his lap? Why would Oikawa be happy if Hajime hits him? Pain play? How can these two concepts go together? What the hell does that even mean? It’s hardly Hajime’s fault that he can’t understand anything—Alien Oikawa Language is too difficult to decipher.

From the few sentences Hajime does get, however, the most crucial—and horrifying—takeaway is that Oikawa has apparently been talking about sex the whole time. “Are you fucking serious? You’re ugly crying one minute, and thinking about sex the next? What kind of top grade idiot are you?”

Indignant, Oikawa retorts, “But that was the Dominant Iwa-chan is So Hot face! You pulled my hair!”

“Oh my god,” Hajime groans. What has he ever done to deserve this? “Pulling your hair means I’m initiating sex? Are we in the primitive age, dumbass? And what the hell is the dominant-whatever-the-hell face?”

Oikawa tsks. “Iwa-chan, are you channeling Tobio-chan's spirit? Why is your curse vocabulary so limited? Also, you need to say it right. The Dominant Iwa-chan is So Hot face deserves respect for being top two on my Greatest Hits: Iwa-chan’s Face list.”

Hajime feels his head swimming. This conversation is going nowhere, and his confusion is piling up in a mountain of question marks. He decides to tackle the easiest one first.

“What does me being the team’s dominant wing spiker have anything to do with sex? Since when did we replace ‘ace’ with ‘dominant’ anyway? I like ‘ace’ better,” Hajime frowns. He’s clearly missing something here. Vaguely, he recalls Matsukawa saying dominants are usually (but not always) power tops or something like that. As a wing spiker and Seijoh’s ace, Hajime is indeed most powerful when fighting midair at the top, though his receives down on the ground aren’t too shabby either. Is this it? Is Oikawa using sex to discuss volleyball strategies? What the hell? That’s so inappropriate? What would the coaches think?

“Oh Iwa-chan, what am I going to do with you? This has nothing to do with volleyball, silly. It’s more of a _personal_ affair,” Oikawa giggles, wiggling his brows exaggeratedly. “You see, in my _wet_ dreams, dominant Iwa-chan always manhandles submissive me, leaving bite marks and scratches and thrusting deep and hard into my ass—”

Hajime’s brain explodes. He still doesn’t understand all the weird shit Oikawa is saying, but he knows enough. Blushing furiously, he clamps a hand over Oikawa’s mouth, glancing around furtively. “Shut the fuck up, Pervertkawa!”

Pulling Hajime’s hand away, Oikawa points out, “There’s no one home except us, Iwa-chan.”

Oh, right. But still.

Hajime glares. “We’re going to pretend this mess of a conversation never happened, and you’re going to keep your potty mouth shut. Got it?”

Oikawa rolls his eyes.

It’s as good as a yes Hajime is going to get. Taking his hands off Oikawa, Hajime sinks face first into the couch, legs in Oikawa’s lap. Wow, is he exhausted. This conversation zapped more energy out of him than being jumped by a bunch of first year losers. Which is understandable— _nothing_ is easy around Oikawa.

Unlike Hajime, Oikawa remains unfazed. Humming softly, he starts kneading Hajime’s calves, like a cat making biscuits on its favorite human.

Contentment, peace, warmth, humming, Oikawa. Hajime likes this. He lets himself soak in the tranquility for a bit, the weight of worry vaporizing off his shoulders. In this moment, they’re both safe. That’s all that matters.

Teetering at the edge of unconsciousness, just as he’s about to doze off, Hajime notes the tinge of melancholy in Oikawa’s tune, a timely reminder. Right, he still needs to have that talk with Oikawa. Taking care not to float too far out, Hajime slowly reins himself back to reality bit by bit. Flipping onto his back, he sits up in a single fluid motion. Or tries to, anyway. With his stomach and back muscles screaming in protest, he looks more like a tortoise overturned on its shell. With herculean effort, Hajime manages to pull himself up and tuck his right leg in, then decides to call it a day when Oikawa refuses to let go of his left foot. It’s an awkward position, but he’ll live.

Breaking the silence, Hajime says matter-of-factly, “You say the stupidest things, you know. You are so stupid.”

Defensive, Oikawa scoffs, “I most certainly am not. The great Oikawa Tooru only exudes and imparts wisdom. Iwa-chan, you mustn’t blame me for your own abysmal IQ.”

“The only thing you exude is bullshit. Smelly Oikawa.”

Oikawa lets out an undignified squawk. “That is so rude, Iwa-chan! I do not!”

“You do. You say stupid things all the time, and today you are the stupidest. Seriously, what the hell is ‘they should’ve come for me, not you’?” Hajime interjects, temper rising as he thinks back to what Oikawa said earlier. “If that really happened, I would be worried sick, stupid. You have no idea how glad I am that it’s me they jumped and not you. You are family, Tooru. _We_ are _family_ , so no shit I have your back, just like I know you have mine. I don’t put up with your annoying ass or get you out of the shit you get yourself into because I’m obliged to. I do that because I _want_ to, willingly. Why? Because I’m fucking in love with you, Oikawa Tooru. What kinda shitty boyfriend do you think I am? Of course I will do everything I can to protect you, even if that means getting beaten up on your behalf. So yes, you are stupid. And smelly. The smelliest.”

Taking a breather from his diss-turned-spontaneous-rant, Hajime watches as Oikawa starts ugly crying again, looking miserable. Chin wobbling, he makes no attempt to conceal his tears this time as he looks at Hajime piteously, eyes big and watery like a lost child.

Oikawa Tooru really is the ugliest crier in the entire universe, and it’s ridiculous how Hajime still finds him cute despite everything.

Pulling him into his arms, Hajime lets Oikawa burrow his face into his neck, holding him steady through the tremors of tears, guilt, sadness, and insecurity. Peppering kisses on his head, Hajime accompanies Oikawa as he feebly cries out the last of his tears—hopefully. Hajime hates seeing Oikawa wallow in despondency.

“Everything is okay now, Tooru. Stop beating yourself up. I’m okay,” Hajime consoles as Oikawa’s crying lets up. “We’re okay.”

In a small voice, Oikawa asks, “So you’re not angry with me?”

“No.”

“You’re not disappointed in me?”

“No.”

“You’re not going to throw me away in the trash to rot for life?”

“Even if you’re trash, you’re my trash. Besides, soulmates are for life, no?”

“Iwa-chan!” Oikawa finally smiles again, eyes shining in delight despite himself. “I thought you didn’t believe in soulmates!”

“I don’t,” Hajime asserts. “I just believe in us.”

“That’s the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me,” Oikawa croons. “I think I’m going to dissolve into a puddle of mush.”

“Mushykawa.”

“Iwa-chan!” Oikawa lets out a feeble laugh, sniffling.

“Seriously, do you get it?”

“Mm. No overthinking, no insecurity, no guilt, no sadness, because Iwa-chan loves me,” Oikawa summarizes, ticking off on his fingers. “But I still want you to know I’m really sorry, and I love you more.”

“Tooru, stop apologizing. I’m fine, really. The brawn to your beauty, remember?” Hajime reminds, indulging Oikawa’s narcissism for a bit.

“Nooooo, I take it back. I’m sor—”

“Stop. Apologizing. Stop it,” Hajime snaps, pinching Oikawa’s lips shut with his fingers.

“MMMMNFDFFJD.”

“I’m not letting go until you learn how to shut up.”

“HMPH.”

Unconcerned, Hajime continues, “You can be as whiny and sad as you want for the rest of today, but then you better go back to normal tomorrow. Also, don’t say stupid shit like that anymore. I don’t like it. Got it?”

After several beats of pause, Oikawa gives a tiny nod, and Hajime immediately releases him. “I want to hear you say it.”

“Okay,” Oikawa mumbles.

“Can’t hear you.”

“O-kay,” Oikawa repeats, steadier and louder this time.

Satisfied, Hajime fumbles around for his phone, pulling it out from beneath the cushions. Seeing the time, he flashes the screen at Oikawa. “You need to go. It’s dinner time.”

“Don’t wanna. Mother and Father can have a lovely dinner date by themselves tonight,” Oikawa pouts, liberally wiping his face with Hajime’s shirt, staining it with tears and snot. “I want to eat with you.”

Hajime shoots him a disgusted look, but doesn’t stop him. He’ll just pop it in the laundry later. It’s not the first time Oikawa ruins his clothes, and Hajime knows well enough it won’t be the last.

“Don’t be unreasonable,” Hajime says. “Oikawa-san would’ve finished cooking by now. What’s she gonna do with the extra food if you suddenly tell her you’re not going back home for dinner tonight?”

“Then _you_ come with me. Mother knows Iwa-mama and Iwa-papa will be out late tonight. Knowing her, she probably cooked your share too.”

“The moment Oikawa-san sees the state of my face, she will scream, yell, and fuss over me, in that exact order. I don’t wanna worry her. Just say I’m cramming for a test or something.”

“Oh, that’s true. I’ll pack you some food for dinner and come over later then.”

Hajime grunts in approval, hands winded around Oikawa. He doesn’t let go, despite the awkward position he has been stuck in for quite awhile now.

Prodding Hajime’s calf gently, Oikawa asks, “Iwa-chan, why don’t you ever walk me out?”

Hajime snorts. “Since when do you need me to open the front door for you? You’ve been coming in and out as you wish since the day Mom gave you the passcode, and that was like, years back.”

“It’s about being a gentlemanly boyfriend, Iwa-chan!”

“Not interested.”

“I am a delicate being. I need to be pampered.”

“Stop stalling. Get out of my house.”

Sighing, Oikawa says, “I don’t want to leave you by yourself, Hajime.”

At this, Hajime purses his lips as he studies Oikawa. Fidgeting, he can’t seem to sit still for more than two seconds. One hand on Hajime’s foot, Oikawa traces mini UFOs on his ankle bone with his finger, a small habit carried over from childhood.

 _He’s anxious_ , Hajime realizes. It’s rare, but it happens. He doesn’t like this version of Oikawa very much.

“Hey, it’s not like those idiots are going to storm my house. I’ll be fine,” Hajime coaxes, trying to get Oikawa to relax. “I’ll wait right here on the couch until you come back, okay? The sports channel is great, I’ll watch another match or something. ’M not going anywhere without you, I promise.”

It takes another minute or two before Hajime gets any sort of reaction.

Threading their fingers together as if to reassure himself Hajime really isn’t going anywhere, Oikawa finally nods. Untangling himself from Hajime, Oikawa closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. _He’s recalibrating_ , Hajime notes with approval. When he feels like he has sufficient control over himself again, Oikawa lets out the breath he was holding, looking pleased with himself.

Eagerly turning his attention back to Hajime, Oikawa dials up his charm with doe eyes. “Iwa-chan, I have a burning question before I go. I will literally die if I don’t get to ask.”

Hajime quirks a brow. To be honest, he’s so attuned to Oikawa’s histrionics, he’s pretty sure it’s a stupid question, and one he will probably regret allowing him to ask. Still, a goofy Oikawa is infinitely better than a depressed one. He’ll bite. “What?”

Grinning, Oikawa continues, “Seeing how you actually grinded on me just now—still can’t believe it, by the way, 10/10 would recommend doing again—does this mean you’re revoking that godawful No Sex Before Graduation rule of yours? Have we leveled up? Can I suck your dick the next time we make out? I wanna try this cool trick I saw online. Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease!”

Hajime should’ve known better. He _really_ should’ve known better. He brought this onto himself, and now he has no one but himself to blame for this disaster.

“Fuck no!” Hajime smacks Oikawa on the head, pulling him away from the couch and shoving him out the front door. “Go home, Pervertkawa!”

Managing to steal a chaste kiss, Oikawa chirps, “I’m always home when I’m with you, Hajime.”

Flustered, Hajime yells at Oikawa for being so embarrassing and slams the door in his face.

(Outside, Tooru giggles to himself. Unconventional as it is, Iwa-chan did walk him out in the end.)


	5. interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: brief mention of injuries

_**interlude** [noun] /ˈɪn.tə.luːd/_  
_: an interval or lull between two or more acts_

Tooru has been grinning to himself for the past minute, sheer delight insulating him from the morning chill as he leans against the Iwaizumis’ front gate.

For the first time in twelve years that they have commuted to school together, Iwaizumi is late.

Perpetual early bird Iwaizumi ‘Letting People Wait is Rude’ Hajime is _late_.

Iwaizumi has never been late to anything in his life. Ever. He was even born a whole week before his due date. What a weirdo.

To top that off, he, Oikawa Tooru, fashionably late diva extraordinaire, is _early_.

Next thing you know, teleportation is going to be an actual thing.

The fifteen minutes of sleep Tooru gave up is well worth it. He pats himself once on the shoulder for the good job done. _One from myself, one from Iwa-chan later_ , Tooru nods to himself as he checks his phone. 7:26 AM. Any minute now.

Humming softly, Tooru trails his fingers over the mailbox he and Iwaizumi painted when they were little, one side with a red blob supposedly depicting an alien with its spaceship, the other side a grey blob supposedly depicting Gozilla scaling a building. To Tooru’s utter dismay, none of their parents could make out what they had painted when the both of them proudly showed them their handiwork that day. Tooru remembers crying so hard (back then, that was the biggest betrayal his own blood parents could ever struck upon him, a self-proclaimed hardworking, young, and talented _artist_ ) until he was handed his favorite purple popsicle. The wailing stopped at once, and five collective sighs were heaved.

(Tooru had found it weird that Hajime was sweaty and puffing that day—because who gets winded from painting a mailbox—but got distracted by the popsicle and forgot about it. It was only five years later when the adults were reminiscing at their monthly potluck dinner that Tooru heard about how back then ten-year-old Hajime found no popsicles in the refrigerator, took off like a bullet train to the convenience store, and returned in record time under the sweltering summer heat to give an unconsolable and bawling Tooru his favorite popsicle.

That was a conversation Tooru would never forget.

That night, fifteen-year-old Oikawa Tooru solemnly announced he was going to marry Iwaizumi Hajime, and received the blessings of four overjoyed parents in front of a beet red Iwa-chan. That night, Oikawa Tooru dragged his best friend out to the riverside after dinner, and confessed to him under the shimmering sky, scene straight out of a shojo manga. That night, Oikawa Tooru shared his first kiss with the boy who stole his heart.)

Such is the chaotic, unconventional, and dramatic life of Oikawa Tooru, accompanied every step by the ever reliable Iwaizumi Hajime.

Who is ironically not being very reliable right now. Tooru checks his phone again. 7:33 AM. His grin widens. What if Iwa-chan is still sleeping? Today must be his lucky day!

Armed with a last minute morning call mission, Tooru swings open the gate, and heads for the front door. Keying in the passcode is easy enough, and he is soon peeping into the house. Silence and darkness greet him—the Iwaizumis must still be sleeping, coming in late last night. Toeing off his shoes, Tooru creeps upstairs, skipping over the first three creaky steps like clockwork.

(Those three steps have never been the same again since nine-year-olds Tooru and Hajime decided it was a good idea to slide down the stairs from the second floor using an old surfboard they had found in the attic. One fun-filled hour later, Iwa-mama came back from the market to find them huddled together at the bottom of the stairs, napping their exhaustion away. Needless to say, faced with the wrath of a formidable housewife, the boys never dared to play rough in the house ever since.)

Navigating with ease, Tooru makes his way to Iwaizumi’s room, a familiar path he takes almost everyday. The closer he gets, the more excited he becomes. Should he jump on Iwa-chan’s sleeping form? Pour water over his face? Doodle on him? Or maybe wear a mask and pretend to be a robber? The possibilities are endless!

Then Tooru remembers Iwaizumi just got jumped yesterday, and promptly deflates. No playing rough. Morning kisses will have to do then.

Too bad all that excitement and brainstorming go to waste, because Tooru opens the door and flicks on the light switch only to find an empty room. Frowning, he begins to inspect. The bed is made, and feels only slightly warm. Iwaizumi’s school bag is gone, and so is his school uniform. Tooru checks his phone for the third time this morning, double-checking for any unread messages from Iwaizumi (there isn’t), before speed-dialing his missing boyfriend. The line goes through, yet Iwaizumi isn’t picking up. Tooru scans the room again, and finds a single post-it on the abnormally tidy study desk. Instinctively, he knows it’s for him.

_If you’re reading this, I’m already at school. Don’t be late. — ~~Hajime~~ ~~Iwa-chan~~ Iwa_

Scowling, Tooru throws the offensive slip of paper to the floor, stomping on it. He can’t believe it. The _audacity_. The _nerve_. The _insolence_. Fifteen glorious minutes of beauty sleep was sacrificed for this surprise, and this is what Tooru gets? A stupid note from his stupid boyfriend telling him to walk to school alone? Where is the royal respect he deserves?

To make things worse, Iwaizumi is _still_ not picking up.

“Iwa-chan, you meanie,” Tooru sulks, pacing the floor back and forth. “You big, ugly meanie. I hate you!”

When he realizes he’s probably disturbing the adults sleeping downstairs, Tooru switches over to rolling all over the bed, cursing out Iwaizumi in his head until a shocking thought strikes him: _is this why Iwa-chan didn’t let me sleep over yesterday? So he could sneak out without me?!_

Fully pouting now, Tooru laments his loss. When did his Iwa-chan become a sly, traitorous, heartless boyfriend? How could he possibly bear to ditch his fabulous boyfriend aka the amazing Oikawa Tooru? How dare he! Taking his tantrum out on the Godzilla plushie (a birthday gift from Tooru) sitting on top of the pillow, Tooru punches the giant reptile several times before stuffing it down the narrow gap between the bed and the wall. Then, feeling guilty, he rushes to retrieve it, hugging it to his chest.

“I’m sorry, ‘zilla-chan. It’s not your fault, it’s all Iwa-chan’s fault! He’s so mean to me. What should I do…”

The logical thing to do, of course, would be to get up and go to school. But Tooru can’t get over not walking to school with Iwaizumi. It’s a twelve-year long tradition, broken only by the occasional bedridden type of sickness throughout the years. This year is especially important, their last year going to school together, the grand finale to their shared childhood. It unsettles and upsets Tooru to miss out on even a single day. Before he accidentally lets out a frustrated yell, Tooru hides his face in the pillow, calming himself down with Iwaizumi’s comforting scent. Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out.

The outrage gradually mellows out, morphing into worry. A numbing sensation takes over Tooru’s body as his imagination runs amok. Iwa-chan jumped by hooligans the moment he stepped out of the house. Iwa-chan dragged off to a desolate back alley, beaten to a pulp. Oh god, Iwa-chan lying in a puddle of his own blood?!

“NO! ‘zilla-chan, oh my god, I need to save Iwa-chan! I need to—” Tooru falters at the grim stare the Godzilla is giving him, a carbon copy of its owner’s unimpressed stare, as if saying _really, Oikawa?_

Reluctantly, Tooru admits, “Fiiiiiine, maybe Iwa-chan’s okay, and I’m freaking out for no reason, butbutbuuuut I can’t help myself!” Gently knocking the Godzilla against his temple, Tooru whines, “What should I do, what should I do, what—oh, I know!”

With the perfect solution in mind, no doubt conceived with the blessing of the Godzilla, Tooru gives the plushie a quick peck before putting it back in its rightful position on the pillow. Then, he hurries out of the house, eager to get cracking. Despite Iwaizumi’s note, Tooru can’t help his unease, so he’s going to check the streets for himself, just to be sure Iwaizumi didn’t get ambushed on his way to school.

Tooru needs to see for himself.

Taking off in a light jog, Tooru keeps his eyes open for his favorite porcupine head of an Iwa-chan. En route to school, he does two things: first, he checks on one particular bento in his bag from time to time, making sure he isn’t jostling it too much; second, he keeps breaking away from the main street to thoroughly check the alleyways, overactive imagination fueling his need to inspect every nook and crook where the shadows lurk. Tooru only realizes how increasingly absurd he is acting when he gets disapproving stares from passersby as he’s attempting to climb into the giant recycling bin, yelling for Iwaizumi. Sheepish, he apologizes for making a din, and runs off in mortification.

Thanks to his athleticism, Tooru reaches school in no time. Grabbing the first student council member he sees stationed at the gate, he asks breathlessly, “Is Iwa-chan—I mean, Iwaizumi, third year, volleyball vice-capt—is he here?”

Taken aback by his sudden (and probably disheveled) appearance, the junior nods mutely, then quickly adds, “Good morning, Oikawa-san! Iwaizumi-san arrived about five, no, seven minutes ago! He should be in his homeroom right now.”

Yelling a haste thanks, Tooru races up the stairs, heart beating hard with apprehension. Reaching his destination, he goes barreling into Class Five, yelling at the top of his lungs.

“IWA-CHAN!”

This startles the handful of early birds settling in at their desks, including Iwaizumi who had his head down at his desk prior to Tooru’s entrance. Stomping over, Tooru points an accusatory finger at Iwaizumi. “Iwa-chan, how _dare_ you nap when I was losing beauty sleep and freaking out trying to find you? Why didn’t you wait for me this morning? What if you get jum—Ngh!”

Hastily slapping a hand over Tooru’s mouth, Iwaizumi drags him down to eye level. “Shut up, Oikawa. I—no, WE are going to keep a low profile today, get it? Goddamn, this is why I came earlier. Stop making a fuss, dumbass.”

Tooru doesn’t answer, distracted by the sudden close proximity. Up front, he sees Iwaizumi in appreciative clarity. Brows knit together, causing faint crease lines to deepen in displeasure. Lips pressed tightly together, set in an ever so familiar grim line. Black lashes, sparse as they may be, frame his favorite pair of gorgeous sometimes green, sometimes grey eyes, glaring with the intensity of a thousand suns. Tooru swoons—it’s the Iwa-chan is Determined and Ready to Fuck Shit Up face, top three on his Greatest Hits: Iwa-chan’s Face list. This is the exact expression Iwaizumi has when he has to step in to deal with and fish Tooru out of the troubles he gets himself into, swooping in like a real-life hero to save the day. Or well, deescalate the petty arguments Tooru incites, and throw hands if an actual fist fight breaks out. Tooru loves it when Iwaizumi gets protective over him—it makes him so incredibly turned on, it’s unreal.

Tooru finds himself in a dilemma. He can’t decide if he simply wants to coo at and pet Iwaizumi’s porcupine hair, or give in to the inexplicable urge to make out with him, classmates and proper school conduct be damned.

Either way, Tooru reckons Iwaizumi will not be pleased. If he’s going to be annoying, he might as well go all the way. Make out, it is.

“Iwa-chan, let me go so I can kiss you,” Tooru says, or at least, he tries to, voice muffled by the hand still over his mouth. In reality, it’s an incoherent string of ‘mmns’ and ‘mmnhhhs’. Huffing, he tries to pry Iwaizumi’s unbudging hand away, but the latter does not relent.

Instead, Iwaizumi leans in closer, whispering, “Pervertkawa, did you just say you want to _kiss_ me? We’re in school, you heathen. Have some self-control.”

Tooru’s eyes widen in astonishment. How did Iwaizumi manage to understand that? They’re truly soulmates!

“Drop that thought, Oikawa, or I’m banning kissing for a month,” Iwaizumi warns.

At the appalling idea of a kissing ban (on top of that stupid, vile sex ban!!), Tooru decides he’s had enough of this treatment. How dare Iwaizumi deny him of his basic needs!

Sticking his tongue out, Tooru licks a generous strip across Iwaizumi’s palm, hoping to disgust him into removing his hand. To Tooru’s dismay, instead of triumph, instant regret hits him as he tastes the bitterness of the generic (!!) lotion Iwaizumi applies religiously post-shower, the same cursed one Tooru abhors. Adding insult to injury, Iwaizumi doesn’t even flinch, apparently immune to the petty trick.

“Nice try, pretty boy. That’s not gonna work,” Iwaizumi scoffs. “Be good, okay? You just need to nod, and I’ll let you go.”

A tingle goes up his spine, his cheeks blossoming in a beautiful crimson. Tooru feels his heart skips a beat, then accelerates in full force.

Now, Tooru is no stranger to starry-eyed admirers and frivolous compliments. Star player Oikawa Tooru thrives on public attention. He does not fumble under the heavy gaze of desire, nor does he shy away from flirty comments thrown his way. Why should he, when that’s just mindless teenage infatuation? Sure, the attention is flattering, but they don’t really mean much to him in the grand scheme of things. Mere strangers pretending to be in love with him, when they’re just infatuated with the idea of him, and of loving him. That’s how things work around here.

And then there is Iwaizumi Hajime, the only exception who can fluster him this much without even intending to. Tooru adores the way Iwaizumi tosses out his affection so matter-of-factly—and with such grumpiness. He eats that up, because Iwaizumi means it. Means every single word he says, no lies, no pretense, no ulterior motives.

Screaming internally, Tooru is both shy and exhilarated.

_Iwa-chan said I’m pretty! He thinks I’m pretty! I’m a pretty boy~ Yes, that I am!_

Eager to please, Tooru nods obediently.

Iwaizumi eyes him with suspicion, then releases him from his grip.

Immediately, Tooru claims the chair in front of Iwaizumi’s desk, straddling it backwards so he gets a full view of Iwaizumi. Tilting his head in the way curious puppies do, he asks, “Why didn’t you wait for me? Walking to school alone is booooooring, Iwa-chan. And why must we keep a low profile? Not to flex but I don’t think that’s very possible since I’m, well, I’m me.”

“Because we got into a fight yesterday and should try to stay out of the DM’s radar. That’s common sense.”

“Iwa-chan, the teachers are not blind. Every exposed part of your body is covered in bruises and cuts. Even with your blazer on, your face is a dead giveaway, not to mention you literally can’t walk without limping. How exactly are you planning on going undetected? They’re going to know as soon as they lay eyes on you, and they _will_ definitely report you.”

“That’s why I said _try_.”

“That’s stupid.”

“You’re stupid.”

“Iwa-chan.”

“Oikawa.”

“ _Iwa-chan_.”

“What?”

“Answer my question.”

“I already did.”

“The other one.”

“Which one?”

“Don’t be annoying, you _know_ what I’m talking about,” Tooru grouses, getting fed up with Iwaizumi’s avoidance. “Why did you ditch me this morning?”

With a sigh, Iwaizumi says, “Because you’re you, Shittykawa. It’s exactly like you said—how the hell am I supposed to stay out of sight if I’m hanging out with Seijoh’s No. 1 attention magnet?”

“Then why didn’t you just tell me?”

“You’re just going to say no.”

“So you leave that stupid note to slow me down instead? Do you know how worried I was?” Tooru counters. “Just yesterday, you _promised_ you’re not going anywhere without me, then the next day you disappear and I can’t find you. You broke your promise to me, Hajime.”

Iwaizumi has no retort to that, guilt getting the better of him. Averting his eyes, he lowers his head in shame. “Yeah, I did. I’m sorry. Was weird, coming to school without you.”

“Iwa-chan, raise your head and look at me. I don’t like you looking so defeated.”

Iwaizumi drops his head even lower.

“Iwa-chan!” Tooru pouts, reaching across to lift Iwaizumi’s head up. “Don’t ever look away from me! Look at me. Always look at me. Only look at me.”

Iwaizumi flushes, grinding his hand into Tooru’s face to make him stop. “Don’t say embarrassing stuff like that!”

“Then look at me!”

“Fine!” Iwaizumi tsks, sharp green orbs locking in on warm chocolate ones.

Before Iwaizumi can say another word, Tooru says, “Listen up, porcupine head. I, Oikawa Tooru, your gracious boyfriend, accept your apology. But don’t do that again, disappearing on me. I will kick you so hard, you’ll end up on Mars. Oh, I guess you won’t be lonely even then. You can make friends with the Curiosity rover! How exciting!”

Iwaizumi stares, and stares some more. Then at last, “Porcupine head?”

“Yuuuup, my favorite.”

“Get out.”

“Mean, Iwa-chan!” Tooru laughs, feeling lighter and a tad sleepy now that his dizzy morning rush is behind him. Pulling Iwaizumi’s arm towards him, he lays his head on it, careful to avoid putting pressure on the bruises there. Relishing Iwaizumi’s touch, Tooru noses along his forearm. Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out. The angle is uncomfortable and awkward and will surely make his neck ache later, yet Tooru finds that he doesn’t care. This is all he wants right now. 

After a couple of minutes of silence, Iwaizumi says softly, “I won’t do that again. I’m sorry for scaring you.”

“You’re being too nice to me. It’s a little scary, actually.”

“Oikawa.”

“Hush, Iwa-chan. I’m having a moment, and you’re spoiling it.”

“Okay.”

Truth is, Iwaizumi was already forgiven even before he apologized. How could Tooru be mad at him? The whole thing was his fault in the first place. The minute Tooru saw him peacefully dozing in his seat, his anxiety dissipated. Iwa-chan is safe, and that’s all that matters.

Closing his eyes, Tooru drifts off, knowing Iwaizumi will wake him up when it’s time for class. Somewhere above him, he hears a shutter click, then a familiar chuckle, before Iwaizumi makes a vague noise of protest. _Makki_ , Tooru smiles to himself. The aspiring photographer-to-be has an uncanny ability to pop up out of nowhere to snap the best candid shots of Tooru and Iwaizumi together. Knowing him, he’ll tease Iwaizumi about it for a while, then send it to Tooru to add to his secret photobook, one that Iwaizumi doesn’t know of, filled with an assortment of their candids Tooru collected over the years. He looks forward to seeing the newest addition to the family.

For now, it’s time for a well-deserved nap.


	6. trouble in paradise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: description of violence, mention of blood

_**trouble in paradise** [idiom] /ˈtrʌb.əl ɪn pær.ə.daɪs/_  
_: an unexpected problem arising in a supposedly positive situation, especially in a romantic relationship_

It takes a special kind of irritating to truly get a rise out of Iwaizumi Hajime, king of keeping cool, calm, and collected.

Growing up with a manchild like Oikawa Tooru tends to encourage a very specific character development pattern. Mental strength and resilience to say no to outrageously adorable pouts and whines, defender against all bugs, quick thinking in sticky situations, patience of the highest level when forced to watch the same alien invasion movies for the gazillion time, all that jazz. Years and years of dealing with a Tooru gremlin contribute to Hajime’s emotional stability, and he is proud of it.

There is, however, a caveat: that is, the most irritating person Iwaizumi Hajime has ever had the displeasure of knowing (read: Oikawa Tooru) is unfortunately also the sole exception to his cool, calm, and collected.

So, he's essentially back to square one. What good is it if Hajime’s emotional stability cannot help him combat the biggest headache of his life?

Perhaps it’s more accurate to say Iwaizumi Hajime is cool, calm, and collected _most_ of the time. All bets are, as with all things, off when one Oikawa Tooru is involved. Given their long history together, one would think natural selection would’ve seen to Hajime’s immunity against Oikawa’s histrionics, but evidently even mother nature is no match for the hell spawn.

As Hajime was saying, it takes a special kind of irritating to truly get a rise out of him. More specifically, it’s the Oikawa Tooru kind of irritating that, well, irritates the shit out of him.

Basically, that’s code talk for _Oikawa Tooru is a fucking nuisance_.

Screw cool, calm, and collected. Right now, Hajime is hot, agitated, and ready to give up his promising high school life to commit homicide.

Courtesy of Crappykawa who has been spamming him since first period, Hajime’s phone has been vibrating non-stop all morning. A quick glance earlier had revealed a bunch of frivolous texts and nothing of particular importance, so Hajime resolutely ignored his vibrating phone, racing to take down notes as fast as he could. Contrary to popular belief, not all student athletes disregard their studies for the sport(s) they play. In case he doesn’t get scouted by the university of his choice, Hajime wants to ensure he has the option of enrolling with his grades anyway. One way or another, he is dead set on going to his dream school and nothing will stop him. He has ambitions, dreams, and goals to achieve. A bright future ahead, hopefully.

That is, if he isn’t kicked out of class first because of Oikawa.

Now that he finally gets a breather in-between periods, Hajime whips out his phone to deal with Oikawa. This has got to stop. What is Oikawa even doing, not paying attention in his own classes? Despite his height, Oikawa sits right in front, albeit in the corner, because he’s every teacher’s favorite, so how the hell is he texting so much without getting called out?

Wait, it’s precisely _because_ Oikawa is every teacher’s favorite, isn’t it? Ugh, so unfair.

 _83 unread messages from Iwa-chan loves Tooru (˘v˘)♡(˘v˘)_.

Shaking his head at the name on his phone, no doubt the handiwork of Oikawa himself, Hajime quickly reads through the more recent messages, making sure Oikawa is really just being his annoying self and isn’t actually crying for help.

The first one Hajime sees immediately douses his temper.

 **Iwa-chan loves Tooru (˘v˘)♡(˘v˘)**  
> i will never forgive you if you d*e before me

Great, now it’s impossible for Hajime to be angry for real, not when he knows Oikawa tends to revert to being clingy when he’s anxious and insecure.

 **Iwa-chan loves Tooru (˘v˘)♡(˘v˘)**  
> i don’t want to be a widower ( ˃̣̣̥᷄⌓˂̣̣̥᷅ )  
> oh wait  
> a thought is being thunked  
> if we don’t marry  
> i will nver be a widower  
> hmm this is quite the dilemma  
> should we marry or not?  
> fkdjgkdjkdg what am i saying  
> of course we’re getting married  
> just don’t d*e before me okay?  
> iwa-chan when are we getting married?  
> i want a really~ romantic proposal uwu  
> ahhhh i’m so excited! (ღ˘⌣˘ღ)  
> wait you /are/ going to propose right? (ಠ_ಠ)  
> i refuse to marry without a proposal iwa-chan  
> i’m super serious  
> i’ll fight you (งಠ_ಠ)ง  
> iwa-chaaaaaaaaan stop ignoring me  
> i know you have life science rn  
> stop being a nerd  
> you don’t even need to listen to that class  
> you’re like top of cohort for life science  
> icb you memorized the whole textbook  
> n e r d (￣ェ￣;)  
> hnng iwa-chan talk to meeee  
> fine BYE you;re so boring  
> ugghhhhhhh i can’t take it anymore  
> math is downright dreadful pls k*ll me  
> oh iwa-chan you have english rn  
> now THAT you definitely need ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)  
> your 37/100 test says hi from the underworld  
> brutally killed but never forgotten  
> may it rest in pieces  
> hehehehehehehe

Torn between wanting to tear out Oikawa’s hair and snorting at his own test score, Hajime settles for a grimace, vowing to work harder in his supplementary classes. Just watch, he’ll definitely beat Oikawa in the next cohort test.

 **Iwa-is-Zoomy**  
> ha ha ha very funny  
> stop blowing up my phone  
> are you ever gonna pay attention in class

 **Iwa-chan loves Tooru (˘v˘)♡(˘v˘)**  
> iwa-chan!  
> finaaaaaallyyyyyy

 **Iwa-is-Zoomy**  
> quit changing names on my phone  
> it’s confusing

 **Iwa-chan loves Tooru (˘v˘)♡(˘v˘)**  
> but your ones are so booooooring  
> just ‘oikawa’ sounds so...  
> so unboyfriend!!! o(>< )o  
> can’t you be more creative with it?

 **Iwa-is-Zoomy**  
> fine you want creative  
> i’ll show you creative

 **Iwa-chan loves Tooru (˘v˘)♡(˘v˘)**  
> don’t you dare iwa-chan (・`ω´・)

Ignoring Oikawa, Hajime quickly inputs new ones.

 **Trash Gremlin**  
> IWA-CHANNNNNNN  
> you did it didn’t you?  
> you’re so rude  
> whatever  
> i can always change it again later :3  
> iwa-chan~  
> iiiiiwaaaaiiiiiizoooooomyyy  
> hajime-kun?  
> iwa-chan!!!

 **Iwaizumi**  
> what

 **Trash Gremlin**  
> you called me pretty boy just now (ﾉ´ з `)ﾉ  
> so that got me thinking

 **Iwaizumi**  
> i’m going to stop you right there  
> stop thinking  
> the last time something got you thinking  
> we ended up in the fucking school pond

 **Trash Gremlin**  
> jfkdjfkjss  
> we do not talk about That in this house  
> focus iwa-chan this is important (＞ｍ＜)  
> as i was saying  
> for Very Scientific Research Purposes  
> *drum roll*  
> do you have a daddy kink?

 **Iwaizumi**  
> what the hell is that

 **Trash Gremlin**  
> sksksksks  
> search it up yourself  
> this is so going on the group chat

Why does Oikawa always have to make things difficult for him? Rolling his eyes, Hajime fires up the search engine and inputs his query word-for-word. The search results don’t make sense at first glance, so Hajime clicks on the top link listed, hoping it’ll provide him with more information.

Embarrassingly, it takes Hajime much longer than he should’ve to compute what’s on his screen, and when his brain finally registers the _very_ explicit and hardcore porn site, he turns crimson, flustered and scandalized Oikawa would ask him to search up something like that in school of all places.

 **Iwaizumi**  
> what the FUck shittykawa  
> you are dead to me  
> i’m goig to fucking kill you  
> going*

 **Trash Gremlin**  
> welcome back iwa-chan~  
> you took so long  
> i was worried you might’ve gone into shock  
> so yes or no? (✪‿✪)  
> i need an answer!!  
> hello?

 **Iwaizumi**  
> fuck off

 **Trash Gremlin**  
> so you do huh? ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)  
> i’ll add that to our list then~  
> don’t be shy iwa-chan  
> communication with your sex partner is good!  
> should i call you daddy from now on then?

 **Iwaizumi**  
> I DON’T OKAY I DON’T  
> don’t you fucking dare  
> why are you like this  
> wait what list  
> ?we have a list  
> actually  
> don’t answer that  
> i don’t want to know  
> fuck you

 **Trash Gremlin**  
> yessssssss  
> PLEASE DO  
> take my body  
> it’s yours to keep  
> claim it  
> ravish me  
> any time  
> anywhere  
> you want it  
> you got it  
> (⁄ ⁄>⁄ ▽ ⁄<⁄ ⁄)

Someone taps Hajime on the shoulder just then, causing him to jump. Slamming his phone face down on his desk in a panic, he looks up to find a couple of classmates shooting him looks of concern.

“You okay, Iwaizumi? Your face is hella red. Go to the nurse’s office if you need to rest.”

Hajime is going to kill Oikawa.

“I’m good. Just feeling a little stuffy in here,” Hajime fibs.

Thankfully, his classmates accept his explanation, shrugging as they return to whatever they were doing before.

 **Iwaizumi**  
> SHURJ USDF OIDAKSE  
> SHUT UP OIKAWA*  
> we are NOT having this conversation  
> especially not in school  
> this conversation si over  
> is*

 **Trash Gremlin**  
> boo you’re no fun iwa-chan  
> i’m practically inviting you to deflower me  
> how dare you reject me (⁎˃ᆺ˂)

At this point, Hajime doesn’t know if he wants to chuck his phone or himself out the window. Maybe he’ll do both. That’s less painful than having to deal with Oikawa’s sex-fueled antics.

Before Hajime can do either, a familiar figure in the form of Oikawa’s Japanese Literature teacher passes by, literary texts in hand. Looks like Class Six is doing poems today.

 **Iwaizumi**  
> your lit teacher just walked past  
> get ready for class  
> stop texting already  
> keep your phone

 **Trash Gremlin**  
> noooo  
> she won’t care

 **Iwaizumi**  
> tooru  
> i’m not playing  
> you know why i keep my phone on during class  
> it’s for emergencies only  
> you can’t just spam me with texts like that  
> i almost ran out in the middle of first period  
> thought you injured yourself again  
> i know your grades are decent  
> but you’re being disrespectful  
> pay attention in class

 **Trash Gremlin**  
> ( : ౦ ‸ ౦ : )  
> iwa-chan are you angry?

 **Iwaizumi**  
> i’m not  
> but i will be if you keep this up

 **Trash Gremlin**  
> ( •᷄⌓•᷅ )  
> okay okay  
> i’ll pay attention!  
> i’ll be the best student in class!!  
> (￣^￣)ゞ

 **Iwaizumi**  
> let’s not get ahead of ourselves here

 **Trash Gremlin**  
> heyyyyy <(｀^´)>

 **Iwaizumi**  
> dork  
> i gtg too  
> cya later at lunch

 **Trash Gremlin**  
> (◍•ᴗ•◍)

Staring at the little face, Hajime smiles at how cute it looks before catching himself being sappy again. How Oikawa drives him up the wall yet still manages to reduce him to this state, Hajime will never understand. He must be cursed. At that thought, Hajime feels a sudden chill, then a voice at the back of his mind (sounding very much like Hanamaki) tells him he’s whipped. Scowling, he mentally flips the voice off, stuffing his phone back into his pocket as he readies himself for the next lesson.

******

By the time fourth period draws to an end, Hajime finds himself in a good mood, mostly because Oikawa kept his word and stopped texting him, and partially because he scored a whooping 86 on his History test. Now, if only English would cooperate.

“IWA-CHAAAN!”

Barely thirty seconds after the lunch bell goes off, Oikawa comes barging into Class Five uninvited for the second time in one day. Everyone jumps at the yelling voice, turning in perfect synchronization towards Hajime, as if he is the one causing the ruckus. It’s a bit disconcerting, like a scene out of a horror movie. Ignoring his classmates, Hajime calmly packs away his things, clearing his desk for lunch.

“Shittykawa, if you’re going to be so loud, you can leave right now.”

“It’s rude to chase a well-wishing visitor away, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says, sliding into the chair Hajime already pulled up for him as he dumps out a giant bag of supplies. “Especially when I come bearing offerings!”

Intrigued, Hajime inspects the things scattered on his desk. Bandages, ointment for bruises, Godzilla-themed plasters, black tea sachets, honey barbeque chips, mango mochi, a thermos flask, and a tightly secured bento. Oikawa had gently placed the last item down in front of him, piquing his curiosity even further. Opening the lid, Hajime’s eyes widen at the sight of four misshapen agedashi tofu cubes sitting in light sauce, garden salad drizzled with olive oil, a generous amount of shogayaki, and a heaping portion of rice topped with nori strips arranged in a messy heart shape.

Hajime can’t believe his eyes. Everything on his desk—the food, tea, snack flavors, Godzilla plasters, right down to the rice portion—is meticulously catered to his preferences.

“You did all this? You cooked this?” Hajime asks in disbelief, not quite sure how to react to this huge surprise just yet.

“Mother helped a lot,” Oikawa admits, fiddling with Hajime’s tie. “I tried to do everything on my own, but she had to step in a few times. She said I did well though! We did a taste test last night before I packed the bento, and everything tasted okay, so don’t worry! You won’t get food poisoning like you did the last time I tried cooking curry udon. I mean, I hope you don’t? It’s edible, I swear! Okay fine, the arrangement is a little messed up because of the running I did this morning but that’s totally your fault for making me panic, and the tofu might be a bit too salty, and the shape is off, and the sauce is almost gone, and the—oof!”

Yanking Oikawa’s chair closer to him, Hajime grins. “You’re rambling. Are you nervous? Since when do you get nervous in front of me?”

Caught off guard by Hajime’s teasing, Oikawa stammers, “I—Who says—I’m not!”

Hajime smiles, his heart full and warm. “It’s perfect, I love it. Thank you, Tooru. Wanna know a secret?”

Oikawa nods, eyes big and glassy. _Cute_ , Hajime thinks. Oikawa can never resist a secret, especially one from him. Aware that this isn’t a conversation for outsiders, Hajime lowers his voice, “I really wanna kiss you right now.”

A quiet whine in his throat, Oikawa tugs on the tie, pulling Hajime forward. “Do it. Do it, Iwa-chan. _Do it_.”

“Not now. We are in—”

“Man, talk about sexual tension,” a familiar drawl interrupts. “We totally came at the wrong time. Look, the lovebirds are giving each other kissing cooties. There is no place for us here.”

“Nah, we came at _exactly_ the right time,” a second familiar voice joins in. “Free show, free show! Let’s see who’s the better kisser. Go on now, you two, don’t let us stop you.”

Hajime sighs. As always, the annoying duo has impeccable timing.

Leaning to the side, he whispers into Oikawa’s ear, “This is not over. Be good for me now, and I’ll reward you later, I promise.”

Turning to face the two intruders, Hajime cocks an eyebrow. “If the both of you don’t know how to mind your own business, you can get the fuck out.”

“Language,” Matsukawa tsks, dragging a desk and two chairs over.

“My apologies. Kindly mind your own fucking business or see yourself the fuck out.”

“That’s more like it,” Hanamaki says, making a big show of settling into his chair, flicking imaginary dust from his uniform. “Yo, what did you do to my boy Oikawa? I think you broke him. Hello? Oikawa? You hear me?”

“Oikawa’s not yours,” Hajime remarks without much thought, busy trying to take a decent photo of his bento and everything else on his desk that Oikawa had prepared for him. He’s not the type to snap photos of food, but this is a special occasion, and Hajime wants something for keepsake after all the food’s gone.

“Ooooooh, possessive,” Hanamaki mocks. “Daddy Iwa’s staking his claim on his baby boy. Looks like Oikawa wasn’t bluffing after all.”

“Collar him, why don’t you,” Matsukawa tacks on.

Hajime groans. He didn’t mean to say that—it just slipped out. What does ‘collar him’ mean anyway? Should he ask? Okay, no. Bad idea. Hajime’s not going to put himself through that. No matter how confused he is, he’s never going to ask them. Hajime knows better than to give the annoying duo ammo to lord over him. He’ll just search it up later at home.

“What I meant was, Oikawa is his own person,” Hajime clarifies.

Matsukawa gives him the stink eye. “Dude, get off my lawn with your bullshit. I can’t believe you think we’ll believe this crap. Absolutely disappointing. Is our friendship nothing to you?”

Knowing a losing battle when he sees one, Hajime gives up trying to salvage the situation. Choosing to be the mature one, he does what any self-respecting person would do—he flips Matsukawa off. Tuning out the annoying duo’s equally annoying cackling, Hajime regards Oikawa with interest. He hasn’t moved or spoken since Hajime’s last words to him. _Hanamaki’s right, I think I broke him_ , Hajime muses. A statue in his seat, Oikawa’s eyes are glazed over, a look that means he’s daydreaming about some obscure thing again. Hajime is pretty sure he’s the cause of this new development, and he has a clue or two as to what Oikawa is fantasizing about right now. Pervertkawa.

Noticing a slip of paper stuck under the thermos flask, Hajime removes it. _Oh, it’s the note I left Oikawa this morning_ , he realizes. There are rainbow hearts doddled all over, and a speech bubble encircling his message connected to a frowning stick man. Grumpy, huh? Yeah well, he _was_ quite grumpy when he wrote it. Anyone would be if they had woken up aching down to their very bones. It had taken Hajime a good ten minutes to muster the energy and will to sit up on his bed this morning. Stretching out his limbs gingerly, Hajime was relieved to find his mobility generally unimpaired. He’d just have to bear with the aches—that he could definitely deal with. The tricky part was keeping a low profile at school until his bruises became less noticeable. If Hajime could manage that, his chances of slipping away from the discipline master’s wrath for street fighting would increase exponentially.

The problem was how.

If yesterday evening was any indication, Oikawa wouldn’t be leaving his side any time soon. Hajime wasn’t going to get very far in his plan if he was hanging out with a pseudo-Casanova with the propensity to attract fans like bees to nectar.

He _could_ simply tell Oikawa they needed to stay away from each other for the time being, but Hajime knew very well that wouldn’t work. Oikawa would promptly say no and latch himself onto Hajime for the remainder of the day for the sake of it. He needed something more solid, a situation where he was in control of the pace. Chased by the ticking hands on the clock, the time to meet up with Oikawa and leave for school drawing nearer with every second, Hajime racked his brains hard and haphazardly put together a game plan.

Maybe, just maybe, if Hajime subtly avoided Oikawa for awhile, maybe he wouldn’t realize what was going on until the whole thing was over. That way, his plan _might_ work.

(Honestly, that sounded really dumb. Still, desperate times call for desperate measures.)

The first step was to leave Oikawa behind that very morning.

It was the most off-putting thing Hajime had done in the longest time. His body was tingling, instinct screaming _wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, what are you doing?!_ as he resolutely limped his way to school without Oikawa’s familiar weight leaning into his side, his absence sorely felt. Hajime used to lament not being able to enjoy the drowsy calm of sunrise on his commute to school; this morning, he found it entirely too quiet for his liking. He’d rather take whines about losing beauty sleep or wanting a piggyback to school any day over that.

Because of his injuries, it took Hajime almost double the usual time to reach school, and by then, he had worked up a sweat and was thoroughly annoyed with the world at large. A fresh face on gate duty, bolstered by a blinding confidence in his authority as a first year student council member, had fueled Hajime’s irritation by barring him entry, grilling him on his injuries. School hadn’t even started, and everything was already off to a bad start. Hajime had scowled furiously, demanding to be let in at once. He wasn’t aiming to terrorize anyone, but that was all it took for the junior to break down in tears, backing away like a frightened fawn. In the end, the second years had to step in, one bringing the poor boy away to calm down, the others bowing repeatedly, swiftly allowing Hajime entry. To Hajime’s horror, they even tried to escort him to his homeroom, only scurrying back to their stations when Hajime put on a fierce scowl again and shooed them away.

That was a new low, literally thinking himself into a bad mood _and_ unintentionally scaring the juniors. Him and his stupid plan. When Hajime had seen Oikawa dashing into his class face flushed, vestige of panic and worry evident, regret hit him like a ton of bricks. He knew Oikawa was keeping track of the days they were left with to commute to school and back home together before graduation, and he remembered his promise to Oikawa—and yet.

In retrospect, it really wasn’t the brightest of ideas. What can he say, Hajime was never the smartest of the bunch.

The only good thing that came out of it is the word seems to have spread that third year volleyball vice-captain Iwaizumi is in a bad mood today, and that is certainly helping to keep the curious ones at bay. Though Hajime has caught a few furtive glances his way, he hasn’t heard any gossip in the hallways or need to field any more questions about his injuries. That’s good—the lesser people talk, the more peaceful his day will be.

Hajime should feel a little more upset that his plan to stay away from Oikawa succeeded for a whole ten minutes only. He should, but he doesn’t. It’s already an achievement, really. When your best-friend-slash-boyfriend is _the_ Oikawa Tooru, even a minute of mundane solitary is a blessing.

(Hajime wouldn’t have it any other way.)

Setting Oikawa’s own bento in front of him, Hajime nudges him. “Hey, snap out of it.”

“IWA-CHAN, YOU BIG TEASE! HOW COULD YOU LEAVE ME HANGING LIKE THAT?”

Around the table, the three third years wince. Irked, Hajime chides, “Trashykawa, I’m really going to throw you out if I have to tell you to lower your volume one more time. Shut up and eat your lunch. You’re disturbing everyone’s lunch break.”

“Oooooooh, daddy Iwa disciplining his baby boy.”

Before Hajime can tell Hanamaki to shut the fuck up, Oikawa cuts in, thankfully at a more appropriate decibel, “Makki, if you don’t stop kink-shaming us with the whole daddy thing, I’m going to tell Mattsun about you-know-what.”

Hanamaki pales at that, blood draining from his face. Interesting, very interesting. Hajime has never seen him clam up this fast before. He should be concerned with how deadly white his friend is right now, except Hajime doesn’t give a flying fuck. It’s pretty entertaining, seeing Hanamaki pretend he now doesn’t exist, while Matsukawa eyes them with shrewd suspicion. Whatever it is, Oikawa’s threat is working like a charm.

“Oikawa, I’ll buy you lunch for a week in exchange for Information,” Matsukawa solemnly offers.

“Oikawa, my bro,” Hanamaki appeals. “You can’t do this to me.”

Oikawa pulls a long face. “Ew, do not ‘bro’ me, plebeian.”

“Oikawa, I swear to god, I will destroy you if you spill a single word.”

“Lunch on me, _two_ weeks.”

“Stop it, Issei. This is Life or Death to me.”

“And it’s not for me? Tell you what, Oikawa. _Home-cooked_ lunch for two weeks. You know you love my mom’s cooking.”

“Tempting, Mattsun, veeeeeeeeery tempting.”

“Fine, then I’ll tell Iwaizumi _your_ you-know-what,” Hanamaki declares. “PGP: Abduct is a stupid name, by the way.”

Horrified, Oikawa gasps, covering Hajime’s ears with his hands. “Iwa-chan, don’t listen to him! Makki, you snake! Traitor!”

Shaking his head mournfully, Hanamaki says, “Who was the one who broke the bro code first? You leave me no choice.”

Hajime raises a brow. He overheard Oikawa sleep-talking, so he knows he’s planning a graduation surprise, and PGP: Abduct stands for Post-Graduation Plan: Abduct. That’s all he’s got at the moment, and Hajime has zero intention in prying even though the ominous name has him intrigued. Oikawa would throw a fit if his surprise is ruined, and Hajime wants to avoid that. It’s too much effort to deal with. Not worth it.

(There are several possibilities Hajime came up with, and out of those, he sure hopes the plan isn’t to abduct Karasuno’s Hinata, which Oikawa seems to have secretly taken a liking to, though he refuses to admit. He doesn’t want to deal with Sawamura, or worse, Sugawara knocking on the door with murderous intent, demanding their baby crow back.)

Munching on his tofu, Hajime notes the building tension between Oikawa and Hanamaki, stiffness in their body language a telling sign it’s not simply banter anymore. Somewhere along the line, the dynamic has shifted ever so slightly. Whatever chip they each hold against the other seems to involve something close to heart. _They’re not playing around_ , Hajime realizes with a sigh. Time to break up this stalemate. When will his babysitting duties ever end?

“Alright, I’m calling for truce,” Hajime decides, flicking his eyes to Matsukawa, who gives him the slightest nod before refocusing on Hanamaki with a thoughtful look. O… kay?

“But Iwa-chan, Makki—”

“I said truce. Now shake on it,” Hajime orders, using his vice-captain voice to his advantage. It always works. Reluctantly, Oikawa and Hanamaki shake hands without another word, albeit dropping it after two seconds of contact. Freaking five-year-olds. “Good, now eat.”

“Yes, dad,” the trio replies in unison. Hajime scowls, then relents when he sees them grinning at each other. Ah whatever, at least they’ve made up.

Lunch is a simple affair. The third years meet up in Hajime’s homeroom for lunch break, an unspoken agreement ever since they realized Oikawa’s fans are too nervous to enter Hajime’s classroom. Oikawa brings a proper bento on odd days and store-bought snacks on even ones, and by extension, so does Hajime because why not; Hanamaki does the reverse of Oikawa’s food rotation schedule, while Matsukawa prefers store-bought meals because he hates washing the bento box. Today’s a bit different, what with the extra food Oikawa brought despite it being an even day. Hajime sits back with his bento, chatting with his friends about the fight. Although Oikawa already blew up the group chat yesterday with an unnecessarily detailed recount, the guys seem content to discuss the whole thing again from the beginning.

“So I come in with a badass flying kick—owww!” Oikawa whines, rubbing his cheek where Hajime just jabbed him with the chopsticks. “Iwa-chan, that’s so unhygienic! Gross!”

“You didn’t fly-kick anyone, stop exaggerating,” Hajime says, feeding Oikawa a piece of his shogayaki with rice. “Try this, it’s good.”

“Of course it’s good, I made that!” Oikawa exclaims, then abruptly pauses mid-chew. He looks at Hajime, then at Hajime’s bento, then at his own hands, and lets out a gasp.

“Iwa-chan!” Oikawa screeches, slapping Hajime’s arm frantically. “Stop, stop, stop! We’re doing this wrong!”

“What?”

“You’re injured, Iwa-chan, how can you eat on your own? You’re the patient, so _I’m_ supposed to be feeding you, not the other way round!” Oikawa exclaims, grabbing the bento and chopsticks out of Hajime’s hands, scooping out rice. “Here, say ‘ah’.”

Eyeing Oikawa and the rice warily, Hajime says, “I’m not on my deathbed, Shittykawa.”

“Don’t be difficult, Iwa-chan. You feed me all the time, so why can’t I do the same for you?”

“Yeah, Iwaizumi,” Matsukawa says with a barely concealed grin. “Pray tell, how is this any different?”

“Now, now. You’re gonna break our dear captain’s heart,” Hanamaki tacks on, phone camera steady in his hands.

“Y’all know what I mean. The context’s different,” Hajime growls, glaring at Hanamaki and Matsukawa who look like they’re about to burst a blood vessel trying to keep their laughter in. “Stop filming, Hanamaki.”

“Is it not good, Iwa-chan? Were you just lying to me?” Oikawa laments, chopsticks still hovering mid-air. “You mean to tell me I spent hours cooking just to hear such cruel rejection?”

Heat rising, Hajime shifts in his seat. People are now openly looking over at their table, eavesdropping. “No, no, the food’s good. It’s just…. really weird since you said it aloud like that. Can we not make this any weirder than it already is? Put the chopsticks down, people are staring.”

“Ohhhhhhh, I see the problem now,” Oikawa says, nodding knowingly. “Don’t worry, Iwa-chan. I’ll fix it!”

Uh, that doesn’t sound good.

“Everyone, may I have your attention please?” Oikawa claps, calling out to everyone else in the classroom. “I made Iwa-chan a bento today and I want to feed him but he feels shy so would you please avert your eyes until he’s done eating? Thank you!”

Whatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuck.

“Problem solved!” Oikawa cheers, unconcerned that every single person in the room is now boring holes into Hajime’s very soul. “Come now, young one, there’s no need to be shy. Let the magnificent Oikawa feed you. It is your greatest honor!”

Hajime is going to pass away right this second. He is going to shrivel into a sad piece of tofu skin and die of sheer embarrassment, then Oikawa is going to regret this for the rest of his life. Hajime should’ve known better. He _really_ should’ve known better. So much for keeping a low profile. With Oikawa around? Mission impossible.

Fuck this, Hajime is leaving.

Snatching his bento back from Oikawa (and taking the bag of honey barbeque chips and mango mochi for good measure), Hajime storms out, breaking into a jog when he hears footsteps after him. Seeing an unoccupied storage room, Hajime ducks in and locks himself in, resigned to spending the rest of his lunch break in the musty room. Anything is better than the humiliation outside at this point. This is his safe space now—his home, his sanctuary, where he lives and dies.

The door rattles, lock firmly in place. Hajime feels a childish sense of smugness when it doesn’t budge any further.

“Hey! What gives? Iwa-chan, open the door!”

Yeah right, like he will.

“Do you wanna build a snowmaaaaaaaan? It doesn’t have to be a snowman!”

Ignoring the wailing going on outside, Hajime shifts things around, making space to sit.

“Okaaaaaaay byeeeeee…”

Good riddance.

“SIKE! Ha, you thought! Open the door, Iwa-chan. I’m sorry, okay? I just want to feed you the food I made. Let me take care of you. Pleeease?”

Hajime’s chest constricts. Unfair, so unfair. Before he changes his mind, Hajime unlocks the door. “I’m not mad, just embarrassed.”

Stepping in, Oikawa locks the door behind him, glancing around. Taking a seat on a box full of cleaning agents, Oikawa pets the space next to him. “Hi, boyfriend. Let’s have a storage room date. We haven’t done that before.”

Hajime smiles despite himself, going to sit next to Oikawa. “Hey, you. It’s awfully cramped in here for a date, don’t you think?”

“It’s perfect for two,” Oikawa says, lifting the last piece of tofu in the bento to Hajime’s lips.

Without the intrusive presence of a gawking audience, Hajime easily accepts Oikawa’s offering. A little bit of rice, a mouthful of vegetables. They sit in serene silence, Oikawa finally getting his way, feeding Hajime down to the last grain of rice. It’s a private moment, both of them simply enjoying each other’s company. As soon as the bento is emptied, Hajime reaches for the mango mochi, splitting the sweet treat into two. Stuffing his half into his mouth in one go, Hajime holds Oikawa’s half out for him to nibble on, since Oikawa doesn’t like getting his hands sticky.

“You’re such a messy eater, Tooru,” Hajime grouses, wiping the corner of Oikawa’s lips with his thumb. “It’s all over your mouth.”

“Clean me up with your lips.”

“Huh? Why? Isn’t it easier to use my hand? It doesn’t make sense to—”

“Hajime, I’m asking you to _kiss_ me.”

“Oh.”

“I really gotta do everything on my own in this house. Nobody helps me. Nobody!”

Letting out a dainty sigh, Oikawa pulls Hajime in by his tie, crashing their lips together. Right off the bat, there is nothing innocent about the kiss—it’s dirty and downright possessive. Oikawa winds his hands around Hajime, pressing their bodies together as close as he can manage. There is zero hesitation from Oikawa, kissing Hajime with so much pent-up aggression it takes him by surprise. It’s all Hajime can do to hold on for dear life, and allows himself to be thoroughly kissed. The warmth of their combined body heat, the satiation after a good meal, and Oikawa’s insistent lips on his make Hajime giddy with sensory overload. Kissing Oikawa always makes him feel like he’s underwater, being dragged and whipped by the currents. Hajime loves the thrill of dipping deep under with Oikawa, loves how it makes him feel alive.

When Oikawa finally breaks away for air, Hajime takes a moment to catch his breath too. That was one hell of a kiss. Leaning his forehead against Oikawa’s, Hajime asks, “What was that for?”

“Making good on your word. You said you’ll reward me.”

“Only if you’re good. Embarrassing me in front of the whole class doesn’t sound like good behavior to me.”

Oikawa pouts, climbing into Hajime’s lap. “I don’t care. Kiss me more?”

Just as Hajime is about to oblige, someone knocks twice on the door, causing the both of them to jump. Quietly, Oikawa says, “Iwa-chan, do you think that’s the janitor?”

“Yo, open up. Y’all need to see this.”

“Oh, it’s just Mattsun. Let’s ignore him.”

“I heard that, Oikawa,” Matsukawa says, banging on the door again for emphasis.

“Go away, Mattsun! We’re busy!”

“Defiling the school’s storage room doesn’t count.”

“You too, Makki, go away!”

“Iwaizumi, you hearing this? I’m serious, shit’s blowing up.”

Setting Oikawa down, Hajime makes sure he’s adequately shielding him from sight before reaching over to unlock the door. Pushing it open, he squints at the increased brightness from outside. “What’s up?”

Matsukawa doesn’t say a word, tapping once on his tablet before passing it over instead.

A video clip?

Wait, the figure lying on the ground looks terribly familiar, and so does the other figure beating up the group of boys sprawled at his feet.

Shit, that’s him and Oikawa and the Johzenji first years from yesterday.

“How…?” Hajime asks, mind whirling with questions.

“Seems like the work of Oikawa’s fans,” Hanamaki explains. “According to the comments, this twenty-second clip is part of a longer live stream that got cut and reposted without permission. OP is requesting for the reposter to take it down, and there’s a lot of flaming going on right now.”

“Two of them were with me when I found Iwa-chan and the Johzenjis yesterday,” Oikawa recalls, worrying his lip between his teeth.

“It’s spreading like wildfire, even to the other schools in the prefecture. My inbox is exploding with questions about the both of you,” Matsukawa says, shaking his head. “There’s no way you can keep it under wraps from the DM after this.”

“Fucking hell,” Hajime swears. The discipline master is going to skin them alive once he gets his hands on them.

“Oikawa, do you know you have a fanclub forum? A whole Oikawa Tooru _forum_? There’s a watermark on that clip, and it traces back to this page. Here, look at this.”

Hanamaki switches tabs on the tablet, showing them a website Hajime has never seen before. It’s turquoise-themed, decorated with vines and sparkles in the background. A prominent banner hangs at the top, displaying various artwork of… Oikawa? It seems surreal, but Hajime can’t deny these are actual drawn portraits of Oikawa he’s looking at right now. There is a smirking Oikawa in uniform, a stern Oikawa in his volleyball jersey, an Oikawa in a yukata smiling wistfully at a white bunny, a chibi Oikawa eating milk bread, and an Oikawa in just an oversized white shirt and lace stockings. The last one makes his dick twitch in interest, and Hajime quickly looks away before anyone catches him ogling.

Underneath are five broad categories: Profile: All About Oikawa, Magic Gallery, Discussion Board, Match Support Schedule, Forum Rules. Hajime taps on the first one, and an avalanche of information about Oikawa appears, from his blood type and birth date to his volleyball statistics to his likes and dislikes. With a sense of foreboding, he exits and taps on Magic Gallery. Pages upon pages of photos, fanart, and fanfiction of and about Oikawa appear, neatly tagged and organized.

“Ooh, _two_ new fics by admin Alien! Let’s see, let’s see,” Oikawa says, more to himself than to anyone else, casually scrolling through the page. “[ _Late Night Fever Dream_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14711612)? Ooh I’m an astrophysicist this time! And the other one is… [_I’ll Take the Fall and the Fault in Us_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13106619)? This sounds angsty—do I die? Ah, it’s angst with a happy ending. So, I probably _won’t_ die, but knowing admin Alien, she’s going to make everyone cry reading it. How fun!”

“What the hell is this? Oikawa, do you know about this?” Hajime demands.

“Mm, I pop by occasionally,” Oikawa acknowledges. “The fics are fantastic, and so are the artworks.”

“You’re okay with this? Strangers drawing and discussing and writing about you online?” Hajime asks, brows furrowing in worry.

Laying his head on Hajime’s shoulder, Oikawa is quick to allay his concerns. “It’s a little strange, not gonna lie. But I’ve seen the stuff on here, and it’s pretty mild.”

“You don’t even _know_ who these people are. This could be dangerous.”

“I know who they are!” Oikawa exclaims. “The forum admins are Seijoh’s very own second years. You guys have seen them before. Many times, in fact.”

Sieving through his memory, Hajime zones in on three recurring faces. “The three girls who always show up at our matches with the hot pink cheer board that Kyotani and Kunimi hate?”

“Bingo!”

“That accounts for three. What about the rest?”

“I don’t know,” Oikawa admits. Seeing Hajime’s expression darkens, Oikawa pouts. “Oh, don’t be like that, Iwa-chan. I’m sure none of them mean any harm. It’s fineeeeeeee. You need to let it gooOOOoooooOOO, let it gooooOOOOooo~”

Hajime sighs. “Alright, fine. If you’re okay with this, I have nothing more to say. But you gotta promise you’ll tell me if they cross a line and make you uncomfortable.”

“Pinky promise with a kiss to seal! Don’t you worry, Iwa-chan. Everything is good in the hood.”

“Ewwwww, who wants your disgusting kiss?” Hanamaki pulls a long face, pretending to retch.

Kicking Hanamaki in the shin, Oikawa retorts, “No one asked for your lousy opinion, Makki.”

“Oh, I found a live stream of the fight,” Matsukawa says, distracting the two from their fake wrestling. “I think this is the OG version that got reposted. Let’s watch it.”

**[DISCUSSION BOARD: LIVE]**

_**@tofu_0720’s live has started!** _

**@tofu_0720** [admin]  
>> are yall seeing this??  
>> holy he’s kicking ass!!

 **@OikWifey** [admin]  
> kyaaaaaa  
> hubby is such a good fighter ✿‿✿  
> swooning~

 **@aoiisEternallySuffering**  
> huh  
> what is going on? **@tofu_0720**  
> is that  
> oikawa-san?!

 **@fitemeoikawa**  
> ??????????

 **@oikawasfootrest**  
> who what when where why HOW???

 **@woeisme**  
> someone call the police!!!! T.T

 **@milkbreadchan**  
> wow that punch must hurt so bad  
> AHH DODGE!!!  
> damn oikawa has good reflexes  
> flksdflksflksfs  
> how many are there why do they keep coming

 **@tofu_0720** [admin]  
>> **@aoiisEternallySuffering** yes!!!!! It’s happening right here right now!!  
>> **@milkbreadchan** he’s fighting five at once!!!

 **@aoiisEternallySuffering**  
> five???  
> that’s so unfair??

 **@oikawasfootrest**  
> **@aoiisEternallySuffering** oikawa’s winning tho  
> by a huge mark  
> lol that says a lot abouth the other dudes  
> L O S E R S

 **@fitemeoikawa**  
> holyyyyy  
> we’ve been in the same class for 3 years straight  
> never have i seen him so angry before  
> where did the sweet oikawa-kun go to (꒪ȏ꒪;)  
> why is he on such a rampage??  
> what happeneddddd?

 **@aliencaptain** [admin]  
> ahhh i’m late i’m late!!  
> just got out of dance prac  
> what did i miss T.T

 **@milkbreadchan**  
> **@fitemeoikawa** lmao still wanna fite oikawa?

 **@fitemeoikawa**  
> **@milkbreadchan** ಥ_ಥ  
> i aint no quitter!!!  
> I will fite oikawa-kun b4 graduation  
> mark my words o(-`д´- ｡)

 **@aoiisEternallySufferin** g  
> iwaizumi-san  
> he’s there too  
> lying on the ground  
> is he… okay?

 **@oikawasfootrest**  
> what do i have to do to get oikawa to punch me in the face like that

 **@aliencaptain** [admin]  
> WHAT???  
> **@tofu_0720** **@OikWifey** IS IWA-SAN OKAY REPLY ME RN NOW I’M LOSING MY MIND SOMEONE SAVE MY OTP

 **@milkbreadchan**  
> **@fitemeoikawa** press f to pay respect  
> i will be here with hugs and kisses when you get your smol ass kicked by our lord and savior

 **@fitemeoikawa**  
> **@milkbreadchan** dibs on being the small spoon!  
> **@aoiisEternallySuffering** fjdsfdksf your right someone check on iwaizumi-kun!!!

 **@lilacblooms**  
> **@milkbreadchan** **@fitemeoikawa** icb you ladies are flirting right now  
> iwaoi are /literally/ in the middle of a street fight  
> truly only lesbians have rights  
> thank you for this Good Lesbian Content

 **@fitemeoikawa**  
> **@milkbreadchan @lilacblooms** ♡(˃͈ દ ˂͈ ༶ )  
> forreal tho am i the only one whose heart is pumping really fast watching this?  
> i’m so confused and worried at the same time  
> i hope oikawa-kun doesn’t get hurt huuuuu

 **@tofu_0720** [admin]  
>> guys things are more serious than i expected  
>> i didn’t realize until aoi-kun pointed it out  
>> iwa-san isn’t moving??  
>> he’s  
>> ugh this is frustrating i can’t really see him from this angle

 **@aoiisEternallySuffering**  
> ?????????

 **@tofu_0720** [admin]  
>> oh

 **@aliencaptain** [admin]  
> **@tofu_0720** WDYM OH TOFS COME BACK EXPLAIN YOURSELF THE SUSPENSE IS KILLING ME IS IWA-SAN OKAY OR NOT

 **@woeisme**  
> hes dead  
> iwasumiz san i died isnt he  
> oh my god we wtch him de  
> i thkkk im goin to thrw up

 **@oikawasfootrest**  
> **@woeisme** mari-chan calm down iwaizumi is a good fighter ive seen him fight a couple of times i think he’s just unconscious breathe okay? Dw too much lets wait for admin tofu to come back  
> **@tofu_0720 @tofu_0720 @tofu_0720**

 **@aliencaptain** [admin]  
> **@OikWifey** hun tell tofs to come back mari-chan’s spiraling

 **@OikWifey** [admin]  
> **@aliencaptain** aye aye capt!  
> tofs is a bit stunned rn jsut a sec

 **@tofu_0720** [admin]  
>> sorry sorry!!  
>> I didn’t mean to leave yall hanging like that  
>> it’s just  
>> i am SHOOKTH  
>> oikawa is RELENTLESS yall  
>> he’s like a whole different person  
>> i don’t know this man i see in front of me  
>> he’s really beating the other guys up like  
>> like he has a blood vengeance O.O  
>> it’s so scary i’m legit shaking  
>> **@woeisme @oikawasfootrest @aliencaptain** iwa-san shold be okay he wasn’t moving much just now but he’s conscious his eyes are open adn he’s breathing i think he’s just tired

 **@woeisme**  
> **@tofu_0720** really? (ó﹏ò｡)

 **@tofu_0720** [admin]  
>> **@woeisme** i promise!!!  
>> he’s just catching his breath  
>> should be up in a couple more mins  
>> dw just concentrate on brething properly kay?

 **@woeisme**  
> **@tofu_0720** okayyy ๑◕︵◕๑

 **@lilacblooms**  
> yikes i think oikawa needs to be stopped before something bad happens  
> look at the way he’s dragging thay dude >.<

 **@woeisme**  
> is that.. blood?!  
> that’s def blood isnt it  
> **@tofu_0720** is oikawa-san okay?? plese tel me thats not his blod im@literlly goig cry

 **@milkbreadchan**  
> correction: mari-chan is /already/ crying my sleeve is half soaked help  
> **@tofu_0720 @OikWifey** pls comform if oikawa is okay mari chan is crying so hrd shes turning blue  
> *comfirm  
> *confeim  
> ah screw it so many tupos

 **@OikWifey** [admin]  
> **@woeisme @milkbreadchan** ahhhh mari-chan don’t cry!!! that’s NOT hubby's blood  
> but iwa-san is bleeding quite a bit kfjsdkjds  
> crap maybe i sohuldve have said that  
> sorry!!  
> breathe mari-chan  
> deep breaths!!

 **@fitemeoikawa**  
> **@tofu_0720 @OikWifey** what happened exactly? I need answerssssssssss

 **@OikWifey** [admin]  
> tofs is still shock so ill explain  
> we randomly met hubby on our way back to school to fetch alien from dance prac  
> what were the chances right lel  
> anyway we were chatting and  
> just as we were abt to turn the corner  
> there was a loud commotion  
> and a lot of swearing  
> so the first thing hubby did was to shield us from whatevers in front (swoon!!)  
> by the time i saw what was going on  
> iwa-san was looking /right at us/  
> blood dripping from his face  
> he was on the ground getting kicked by these five boys from god knows where  
> by the looks of it  
> they had been at it for awhile (ꐦ ಠ皿ಠ )  
> but here’s teh thing  
> even though he was in so much pain  
> when he saw hubby i swear he smiled (・о・)  
> the tender kind that screams “you are the light of my life” kinda smile  
> lfkjdkjdkf how crazy is that  
> ive never seen the stoic iwa-san smile like that  
> oikawa who?? consider me IwaWifey LOL  
> then one of them took this wooden board?? and was about to slam it down on iwa-san??  
> tofs screamed and hubby jumped into the fight  
> stood over iwa-san’s body with this  
> this FERAL expression on his face ◉⌓◉  
> like a beast almost  
> ahhh i aint alien idk how to describe things properly with words  
> n e way  
> hubbby hovered around iwa-san for awhile we couldnt catch what he was doing or saying  
> then he suddenly announced hes going to beat the crap out of them  
> and O M G the look in his eyes?  
> those were eyes of someone who lost all reason  
> he literally looked like something snapped in him  
> ive never seen anything like that before  
> waaaaah so scary  
> i think im going to get nightmares tonight  
> thats how bad it was  
> and then tofs decided to livestream  
> so yall know what happened next  
> its so chaotic  
> hes fighting barehanded against the 5 of them  
> AND HES WINNING  
> fighting is bad but i’m so proud of him??  
> theyre no match for him

 **@aoiisEternallySuffering**  
> dear lord

 **@fitemeoikawa**  
> technically that’s self-defense  
> look at the damage the 5 of them did on iwaizumi-kun  
> no wonder oikawa-kun is raging  
> besides iwaizumi-kun isnt the type to go asking for trouble  
> something’s not right

 **@milkbreadchan**  
> **@fitemeoikawa** agree!!  
> also  
> **@OikWifey** you’re going to send **@aliencaptain** into a writing frenzy keke

 **@aliencaptain** [admin]  
> thank you all-mighty oikawa for always dishing out quality iwaoi content  
> i am in heaven!!!  
> so many fic inspo!!!  
> ahhhh i need to write them down

 **@oikawasfootrest**  
> ugh if only oikawa would step on me like that  
> STEP ON MY NECK OIKAWA YOU COWARD

 **@lilacblooms**  
> anyone knows who those dudes are??

 **@OikWifey** [admin]  
> i think they are from johzenji?  
> wait let me get a closer look  
> waaaaahhh this is scary ( •́д•̀ ;)

 **@aoiisEternallySuffering**  
> **@OikWifey** be careful!!

 **@aliencaptain** [admin]  
> FSJKFDSKFSKFSKFS  
> oh my god??????????  
> is it me  
> or did oikawa just pin iwa-san to the ground  
> ack he’s yelling at iwa-san??  
> the angst is sending meeeeeeeeee

 **@milkbreadchan**  
> !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 **@fitemeoikawa**  
> theyre so gay  
> SO. GAY.  
> iwaoi ship: sailing fast and furious

 **@aliencaptain** [admin]  
> *screaming*  
> iwaoi childhood friends slow burn hurt/comfort mutual pining miscommunication falling in love hero complex sexual tension angst with a happy ending 200k ongoing  
> LONG LIVE IWAOI \o/

 **@tofu_0720** [admin]  
>> admin tofu revived and reporting in~  
>> lol wifey is having a Crisis so i’m taking over  
>> seeing this gayness irl is overwhelming our resident self-proclaimed fujoshi  
>> anyway according to their jackets  
>> those boys are from the johzenji vball team  
>> so my guess is something happened at the practice match last week ><  
>> i’ll update if i find anything  
>> aaaand also i hav  
>> oh  
>> OH

 **@OikWifey** [admin]  
> kd  
> ;;;;a;s;;;;  
> ;;;2%%%2*@&  
> hnngnngng

 **@woeisme**  
> awww iwaizumi-san is hugging oikawa-san  
> it’s a happily ever after!

 **@aliencaptain** [admin]  
> *YEETS SCREAMING SELF INTO SPACE*  
> DUE TO PERSONAL REASONS I HAVE DECIDED TO PASS AWAY

 **@aoiisEternallySuffering**  
> i think i’m going to pass out from sugar overdose  
> iwaoi is really /that/ pwer couple  
> beacon of hope for the gay community  
> they really said this is a homosexuals only zone  
> i want that  
> i want what they have

 **@milkbreadchan**  
> hehe i think iwaoi broke **@OikWifey** and **@aliencaptain**  
> are you guys okay? XD

 **@fitemeoikawa**  
> hands down it’s a clear win for iwaoi shippers

 **@aoiisEternallySuffering**  
> **@tofu_0720** what did oikawa-san say? It’s too soft i didn’t catch that

 **@woeisme**  
> oh they’re leaving  
> bye bye iwaizumi-san!  
> bye bye oikawa-san!  
> rest well!

 **@oikawasfootrest**  
> **@woeisme** istg mari-chan you’re so precious

 **@woeisme**  
> **@oikawasfootrest** (〃ﾉ∀｀〃)

 **@tofu_0720** [admin]  
>> **@aoiisEternallySuffering** wifey asked if they needed our help  
>> but oikawa said it’s okay he can manage alone and not to worry and thanks for today  
>> he’s thanking us when we did nothing T.T  
>> what an angel

 **@aliencaptain** [admin]  
> will you look at that beautiful sight?  
> two weary warriors  
> who fought a valiant fight  
> walking arm-in-arm away  
> from the bloodied battleground  
> into the golden rays of sunset  
> i’m weeping  
> this can’t do  
> **@tofu_0720 @OikWifey** the both of you are sleeping over tonight  
> i need a blow-by-blow recount again  
> too many fic ideas are at stake here  
> stay where you are i’m almost there

 **@oikawasfootrest**  
> pity it’s over

 **@tofu_0720** [admin]  
>> **@aliencaptain** roger that~  
>> hmm the viewer count is suddenly spiking?

 **@aliencaptain** [admin]  
> **@tofu_0720** the other clubs are starting to wind down now

 **@tofu_0720** [admin]  
>> ohhhh right no wonder  
>> hi everyone! admin tofu here~  
>> no need to panic okay?  
>> i’ll upload this live to DB once i watermark it so yall can (re)watch whenever ^^ [pinned]

 **@oikawasfootrest**  
> **@tofu_0720** doing gods work bless

 **@woeisme**  
> **@tofu_0720** thank you!

 **@milkbreadchan**  
> **@tofu_0720** good work! thanks ^^

 **@tofu_0720** [admin]  
>> @ everyone no problem!  
>> i have fused this live into my very soul  
>> the muse has spoken  
>> stay tuned for new art!!

 **@lilacblooms**  
> fics from admin alien  
> art from admin tofu  
> we’re going to be fed so good  
> it’s gonna be a FEAST  
> !!!!

 **@tofu_0720** [admin]  
>> i gotchu ( ˘ ³˘)  
>> aite i’m out

**_@tofu_0720 has pinned a message:_ **  
_> > i’ll upload this live to DB once i watermark it so yall can (re)watch whenever ^^_

**[autobot reminder]**  
> removing watermarks, editing original works without permission, and/or reposting forum content onto other platforms are strictly prohibited (offenders will get explosive diarrhoea and seven years of bad karma)

**_@tofu_0720’s live has ended._ **

“Wow,” Hanamaki says after a prolonged beat. “That was something else.”

“Your fans are…” Hajime trails off.

“Scary?”

“Hey! Don’t be mean, Mattsun!” Oikawa scolds. “They’re just—”

“Loud? Intense? Overzealous?”

“You’re so annoying, Makki!”

“Oikawa, who the hell is @oikawasfootrest?” Hajime asks.

“That one has M vibes,” Matsukawa notes.

“Definitely,” Hanamaki agrees.

“What’s—never mind, I think I’m better off not knowing,” Hajime says. “Well, Oikawa?”

“Umm, I don’t know? I only know they seem to have a crush on Mari-chan aka @woeisme, a first year from Dateko. So they’re probably from Dateko too?”

“Stay away from that person.”

“Why? @oikawasfootrest seems really funny.”

“Are you kidding me? They wanted you to punch them and step on their neck. That’s violent and weird as fuck.”

“It’s just stan language, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa laughs.

“I don’t give a shit. I don’t want you near this person until I know exactly who they are.”

“I can’t stay away from someone whose real identity I don’t know, Iwa-chan. You’ll just have to stick close to me from now, if you’re worried.”

In response, Hajime presses his back firmly into Oikawa’s chest, to which the latter giggles.

“Oh, at least now I know @fitemeoikawa may or may not be a lesbian from my class that wants to fight me!”

“How is that any better, Shittykawa?”

“Better than nothing!”

“Genuine question: are we just going to ignore the whole IwaOi ship thing?” Matsukawa asks, grinning like a Cheshire cat. “Iwaizumi, you do know this means a bulk of those fics and art we saw are written and drawn with not just Oikawa but also you in mind, right?”

Oikawa flips up a peace sign, and Hajime bats it away wearily.

“Don’t be shy, _Iwa-san_. After all, the ship has sailed. How does it feel, knowing you have fans shipping you with Oikawa? Aww, the people love the IwaOi love,” Hanamaki teases. “Duuuuude, your ears are _so_ red.”

“Shut up, Hanamaki,” Hajime groans. “Is it your life goal to make my life miser—”

“IWAIZUMI-SENPAI!!!! OIKAWA-SENPAI!!!”

Shouts echo and bounce off the school walls just then, cutting Hajime off. Heavy footsteps thundering down the hallways, the four of them watch as the rest of Seijoh’s volleyball team come running from different directions, skidding to a stop outside the storage room. An occupational hazard, Hajime finds himself doing a headcount without second thought. Not a single member absent, regulars or otherwise. Even Kyotani’s here.

Hajime blinks in surprise at their collective appearance. “We didn’t call for a meeting? How did you guys even know we’re here anyway?”

“We asked your classmates, duh.”

“Hanamaki-san texted me!”

“Dunno, followed the rest.”

“Oikawa-san, you fight so well! Please teach me how to fight!”

“Are you okay?”

“Someone from my class knows someone who knows someone else who knew.”

“I saw the clip! Have you seen it?”

“Yo, you good?”

“Dude, everyone on our level saw you storm out of class.”

“I can’t believe those Johzenji punks really came after you guys.”

“That was crazy! So cool!”

“Everyone, quiet!” Hajime commands, silencing the boys chattering over each other. Note to self: never ever put a bunch of student athletes in one tiny space for the sake of your eardrums. “One at a time.”

Kindaichi immediately puts his hand up.

“Really? What are we, in kindergarten?” Kunimi deadpans.

The first year looks confused, lowering his hand in uncertainty.

“I’m fine, Kindaichi, if that’s what you wanna ask. Nothing too serious, so don’t worry,” Hajime reassures. “Kunimi, play nice.”

“Yes, Iwaizumi-san,” Kunimi replies, an air of indifference as always.

“You should’ve told us. This shit fucking happened so close to school,” Kyotani speaks up, anger brewing in his eyes. “I’m going to beat the living fuck out of them.”

“None of that,” Hajime shuts the second year down sternly, addressing the team at once. “Stay out of this, the lot of you.”

“Not a chance, Iwaizumi. They mess with you, they mess with us.”

“Interhigh is coming up, guys. Right now, the worst case scenario Oikawa and I are facing is suspension,” Hajime reasons. “If it comes to that, it’ll be up to you guys to fill our empty spots until we get to come back. The team cannot be short on any more manpower. So stay out of this, you hear me? Stay out of trouble.”

“Nobody can ever fill your spots,” Yahaba grits out, fists clenched in frustration, face contorted. “ _Nobody_. How can the team function without our captain _and_ vice-captain? The both of you are _indispensable_.”

Damn, Hajime never realized how strongly Yahaba feels about them.

“Nonsense. The seniors didn’t groom you guys to be dependent on us, you know. Why would the team fall apart when you guys are here to hold down the fort together? I have absolute faith in each and every one of you,” Oikawa says, smiling like a benevolent fatherly figure. “Give yourself credit where it’s due, Yahaba. I expect nothing but the best from you.”

Yahaba looks stunned, then his face crumbles. Dashing away, he doesn’t get very far before collapsing in a corner, hiding his face in his hands. Everyone else proceeds to pretend they’re unaware he’s sobbing, reduced to tears by Oikawa’s words. The team knows how much Yahaba looks up to Oikawa as a role model and senior. His words cut deep.

“Right, where were we again?” Oikawa asks cheerily, unbothered by Yahaba’s emotional outburst. “Ah yes, the fight. It’s okay, Iwa-chan! Those losers jumped you first. We only retaliated out of self-defense. Surely the DM won’t punish us for defending ourselves. That’s just unreasonable.”

“Does this look like self-defense to you?” Hajime points to the screen with the clip still looping in the first tab, Oikawa slamming his fist repeatedly into plank boy’s face, the latter literally begging for mercy. The awkward silence says a lot, Kindaichi turning green at the sight, Kyotani staring as if transfixed. Hajime tilts the screen away from them. “DM’s not going to let us off so easily.”

Overhead, the P.A. system crackles to life, intermingling with Yahaba’s sobs. Hajime gets an ominous feeling.

“Iwaizumi Hajime, Year Three, Class Five; Oikawa Tooru, Year Three, Class Six, please report to the discipline master’s office immediately after dismissal. I repeat: Iwaizumi Hajime, Year Three, Class Five; Oikawa Tooru, Year Three, Class Six, please report to the discipline master’s office immediately after dismissal. Thank you.”

More crackling, then everything falls silent. No one moves, or speaks, or utters a single sound.

Hajime and Oikawa make eye contact, and there is only a single thought: _fuck_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [_Late Night Fever Dream_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14711612) and [_I'll Take the Fall and the Fault in Us_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13106619) are two actual iwaoi fics by [redroseinsanity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/redroseinsanity/pseuds/redroseinsanity). If you haven't read her works, you're missing out~ Go check 'em out, you won't regret it.


	7. show hand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: mention of fighting, injuries

_**show hand** [idiom] /ʃoʊ hænd/_  
_: to reveal one’s plans, intentions, or resources to others, especially those previously hidden or kept secret_

The haworthia sitting on the windowsill is fake. Either that, or it’s on the brink of death. It’s an ugly thing, a far cry from his own pot at home. Unlike this one, his is well taken care of, Tooru making sure to say at least one nice thing to it everyday. The granny florist who gifted him his haworthia had told him plants grow better if they hear positive things and receive good vibes. This one doesn’t look like it’s receiving any good energy. Then again, visitors to the discipline master’s office usually don’t bring much luck or grace with them. If anything, the haworthia has probably been exposed to plenty of teenage angst and dejection all its life. What a dismal existence. No wonder it grew up twisted, literally.

The fluorescent lights in the office strain Tooru’s eyes, artificial light intruding his pupils. There’s a constant buzzing from the malfunctioning one right by the plant. Who was the genius who thought it was a great idea for offices to be lit up this way? That person must be anti-aesthetic. The unflattering lighting emphasizes his dark circles, canceling out the magic of his concealer. If these lights manifested in the form of a living thing, Tooru wouldn’t hesitate to sock it in the face.

Stale, cold air whoosh from the air vent, causing Tooru to shiver and wrinkle his nose. Are they raising penguins and polar bears in here? Why is the temperature so low? Why does it smell like this? This office needs air freshener. And a humidifier. And a new paint job. Scratch that, it needs a complete revamp.

In short, there is nothing satisfactory about the entire office. Tooru’s been in here for only a couple of minutes, and he already wants to leave.

Keeping his attention on the plant, Tooru tries his hardest to block out the shrill ringing of the telephone, and the harassed, overworked student staff apologizing profusely. ‘ _Students fighting_ ’, ‘ _volleyball players_ ’, ‘ _investigating_ ’, ‘ _we are sorry for the disturbance and alarm_ ’—how many times has she repeated these words? Tooru feels sorry for the extra work, though he refuses to be guilt-tripped. He’ll say it as many times as needed: they jumped Iwaizumi first. He will not fold.

Without preamble, Tooru asks, “Do you have a plan?”

“No,” Iwaizumi admits. “Gonna wing it.”

“Is it because you’re a _wing_ spiker?” Tooru says, winking exaggeratedly. Over the counter, the student staff giggles, ducking her head when they turn towards her.

“It’s too early for your trashy puns, Trashykawa.”

“Rude,” Tooru pouts. “And what do you mean ‘early’—it’s almost three in the afternoon. Is Iwa-chan’s teeny-tiny gorilla brain unable to tell time?”

“Any time is too early for your trash.”

“Excuse you, I make great puns.”

“Yeah, yeah, keep deluding yourself,” Iwaizumi drawls.

“Excuse me, Iwaizumi-san, Oikawa-san,” the student staff interrupts, coming over from behind the counter. “The DM will see you now. Please follow me.”

The student staff leads them down the corridor, walls lined with notices on school rules, upcoming events, staff meetings, and such. Coming to a stop outside a plain-looking door with the title _Discipline Master_ engraved in it, she knocks and announces their presence.

“Come in.”

“I am rooting for you, Iwaizumi-san, Oikawa-san. Good luck,” the student staff tells them under her breath, opening the door to usher them in. They quietly thank her, shuffling in like apprehensive ducklings going on their first swim. There’s a click, and she’s gone, door shut after her retreating figure.

This is it—the moment of judgement.

The discipline master lives up to his title, an imposing presence even while seated. The way he stares them down with calculative eyes has Tooru wishing he was back in the waiting area. He doesn’t even react when they greet him with a deep bow. Tooru scratches at the sides of his pants, feeling small and nervous. Up till now, he hasn’t worried a single bit about being disciplined, confident he'd go scot-free. Now, he’s not too sure anymore. He just wants to escape this stifling room, and the formidable man behind the sturdy desk. Something about being in the discipline master’s office puts even the most laid-back person on edge.

“The school’s landline has been going off all afternoon, and my office has been fielding inquiries from the public without respite. I’ve even had two concerned calls from reporters at the local newspapers to my direct line. _Reporters_!” the elder booms, nostrils flaring. “Thanks to you, the school is now under public scrutiny and criticism. Never in my twenty-three years at Aoba Johsai have I _ever_ encountered a scandal as big and as dishonorable as the one you’ve caused, Oikawa.”

Yikes, they’re off to a bad start.

Tooru presses his lips together, lest he accidentally blurts out the wrong thing at the wrong time. Something tells him this man is not to be crossed. Still, too prideful to cower, Tooru straightens his facial expression and subtly rolls back his shoulders. He will not fold.

“As if openly brawling in the streets isn’t enough, you had to involve students from another school. Johzenji High is demanding an official apology and severe punishment to be dealt. You have brought disgrace on Aoba Johsai, Oikawa. What do you have to say for yourself?”

Abashed, Tooru apologizes, “I’m sorry for the trouble I’ve caused the school, sir. But with all due respect, I think my actions were justified given the circumstances.”

At his words, Tooru feels Iwaizumi’s eyes on him, and prays the latter keeps his mouth shut. The discipline master hasn’t brought up or included Iwaizumi in his admonishment thus far, so that’s their silver lining. Maybe he blames Tooru entirely for this saga, and is letting Iwaizumi off. If that’s the case, Tooru doesn’t mind being singled out for a tongue-lashing. Better him than Iwaizumi. Either that, or the elder is saving the worst for the last. Tooru sure hopes it’s the former. Iwaizumi hasn’t done anything wrong. He’s 100% the victim in this whole thing, and doesn’t deserve to be punished. Tooru will see to it.

Forehead twitching, the discipline master swivels his desktop towards them, the viral twenty-second clip on full screen. Prodding the screen vigorously, he questions, “Justified? Did you say _justified_? Listen to their cries, Oikawa. Do you hear how they plead for their lives? Do you even _recognize_ yourself? How _dare_ you claim your act of violence on the young and weak as justified! Shame on you!”

Okay, that stings. Sure, violence is an evil. A necessary evil, but that’s besides the point. The point is, those “young” and “weak” were ganging up on Iwaizumi. They were _assaulting_ him, five on one. What was Tooru supposed to do, politely ask them to stop? That’s so lame. It’ll never work anyway. Those boys were out for blood from the start—they didn’t show Iwaizumi any mercy. He shudders to think about the consequences if he didn’t chance upon them by sheer coincidence. Tooru feels so wronged. It’s not like he’s denying his own wrongdoings, and he does feel bad for the trouble he has caused, but the way the discipline master is coming down on him makes it seem like he’s the only villain here. This is so unfair.

“I’m truly sorry, sir. I was overcome by anger and temporarily lost control,” Tooru acknowledges, bowing his head in repentance. “I fully admit my mistake, and am in no way trying to absolve myself of blame. Having said that, it’s not fair to pin this solely on me. I wasn’t simply beating them up for no good reason. I was reacting to provocation, and the Johzenjis were the ones who jumped—”

“ENOUGH! I don’t want to hear your excuses anymore, Oikawa! I’ve given you more than enough time to sincerely confess and repent, but it’s clear you’re just paying lip service. Very well, since those volleyball practices aren’t doing you any good in burning up that apparently brimming adolescent energy of yours, you are hereby banned from club activities for a month.”

“What?! You can’t do that!” Tooru protests, panicking at the thought of missing even an hour of practice. A whole month?! That’s insane. No way that’s happening.

“Oh, I _can_ , and I will do more than that. Hold your tongue, young man, I am not done!” the discipline master rebukes. “In addition, you will serve one week of suspension. Take the time to cool your head and thoroughly reflect on your unruly behavior. You are to submit a letter of reflection to my office when you return. The school will be contacting your parents shortly to inform them of your transgression. A formal meeting with both schools and your parents will be arranged, and you are to apologize to the Johzenji students in person.”

“Please, sir. I’m sorry!” Tooru pleads, angry tears pricking his eyes. Damn this old man, he sure knows where to hit where it hurts most. Club suspension, school suspension, and even a humiliating apology? Tooru would rather drink mercury than bow down to those brats.

Something brushes against his hand, and Tooru looks down to see Iwaizumi’s hand squeezing his own once before letting go. Somehow, this little gesture calms him down.

_Okay, Iwa-chan. It’s up to you now._

“Sir, I too think Oikawa is not at complete fault here. He was just defending me,” Iwaizumi speaks up for the first time since they entered the office, having been quietly monitoring the situation this whole time. “I implore you to listen to my side of the story first before laying such heavy punishment on him. This guy eats, sleeps, and breathes volleyball—he can’t do without.”

“Don’t bother lying to help him, Iwaizumi. Buddies or not, Aoba Johsai has zero tolerance for bullying. He’s not getting out of this one.”

“I am not lying, sir,” Iwaizumi states, face taut. “I have no need to.”

“What, you mean to tell me Oikawa did _this_ ,” the discipline master gesticulates at the screen, “to defend _you_?”

“Yes, sir.”

“From what?”

“From my assailants, sir,” Iwaizumi answers. “I was on the way home from the school gym yesterday afternoon when five Johzenji first years jumped me—the very same ones in the clip. It was their side that threw the first punch. What you see is a distorted, biased version of the truth. If we’re talking about bullying, it is certainly not Oikawa but the Johzenjis who need to be held accountable.”

The discipline master leans forward with a piercing gaze. “Be very careful with your words, Iwaizumi. Accusing the Johzenji students without evidence is downright foolish at this point. Making up lies to cover for Oikawa will get you nowhere.”

“Check the security cameras at Block E. It’s the nearest school building to where the fight went down. Excluding the dummy at the shed, the other three cameras facing the streets would’ve clearly recorded everything, including our faces, since there are no bushes or trees there to obscure the line of sight,” Iwaizumi says. “If that’s insufficient, we have two other eyewitnesses who could vouch for us—they were the ones who recorded the original video of the fight. We can even have a face-to-face interrogation with the Johzenji students to hash things out. Oikawa and I have nothing to hide, sir.”

As if the air has been sucked out of the room, Tooru is left breathless. Tension hangs heavy midair, dripping with acidity. _This_ was what Iwaizumi meant when he said he’s going to wing it? What even? He pretty much came fully armored with them receipts!

_Waaah, who says you can be so cool, Iwa-chan?!_

For a fraction of a second, the discipline master hesitates, as if debating if he should trust Iwaizumi. Then, he seemingly comes to a decision. Reaching for the intercom, he presses, and a voice comes through at once.

“ _Sir?_ ”

“Comb through all footages of security cameras facing the streets at Block E from yesterday afternoon and report back to me as soon as you find anything related to the fight. You have my direct permission to access the files. Do it now,” the discipline master instructs.

“ _Will do._ "

“This is of the highest confidentiality. Keep it discreet.”

“ _Understood._ ”

“For heaven’s sake, is that damn phone still going off? We’re still receiving calls from the public?”

“ _Yes, sir._ ”

“Unplug it. You’ve done more than enough for the day.”

“ _Right away. Thank you, sir._ ”

Fingers tapping lightly on the keyboard, the discipline master studies the clip again, now in a new light. His eyes flicker with every movement, taking in every detail.

“I must say you’ve caught me off guard, Iwaizumi. I originally summoned you to my office with the intention of asking after your injuries, and to clarify your part in yesterday’s fight. I wasn’t expecting such a twist of events,” the discipline master says, tone grave. “Well, since we have time to spare while my staff verifies your statement, why don’t you start over from the beginning? What do you wish to tell me?”

“Before anything else, I would first like to make it clear that Oikawa did not lay a finger on me. It’s likely you saw the clip, and assumed I was also a victim of Oikawa’s aggression,” Iwaizumi says. “I am not—my injuries are from the Johzenji first years, and them only.”

“Wait, you thought _I_ beat Iwa-chan up?! I would _never_!” Tooru cries out in horror, jaw dropping in disbelief.

The elder pulls a long face, his expression saying everything.

Mind. Blown. He, Oikawa Tooru, hurting Iwaizumi Hajime like that? Unthinkable. How insulting!

As Iwaizumi retells yesterday’s events from his point of view, Tooru takes the time to reconsolidate and analyze data, old and new. He’s starting to see the big picture, smaller jigsaw pieces clicking into place. Johzenji’s response, the discipline master’s misunderstanding, Iwaizumi making sure to clear his name, the viral clip. A mere twenty-second clip, short and succinct. Only enough to show Tooru viciously beating up those first years, just enough to condemn Tooru as the bully, and the others, victims. A mere twenty-second clip, short and succinct. Only enough to convey the climax, and just enough to drown out the whole truth. Anyone who sees it would naturally jump to conclusion. It's no wonder the discipline master is so disappointed and angry with him. Only the parties present yesterday knew that the Johzenjis jumped Iwaizumi first, and that Tooru was simply retaliating to protect him.

Absence says as much as presence, and sometimes even more so. Tooru commits this to memory. It’s a life lesson learned.

“If Johzenji High insists their first years are innocent victims through and through, then it’s either they don’t know the whole story, or they’re lying to cover up for their students,” Iwaizumi finishes. “Regardless, with the security footage, the truth will come to light.”

Right on time, the intercom blinks. The discipline master holds up a palm to pause the conversation.

“Yes?”

“ _Sir, I have the information you require._ ”

“Did the cameras get anything?”

“ _All three cameras facing the streets at Block E captured the entirety of the fight, crystal clear._ ”

“Who started it?”

“ _According to the footage, it appears to be one of the Johzenji students. He threw himself at Iwaizumi but missed. Soon after, all of them cornered and started attacking Iwaizumi simultaneously, five on one._ ”

“And Oikawa?”

“ _Oikawa was not present until much later. One of the outer cameras captured him walking with two girls in the direction of school on the neighboring street. They rounded the corner just in time to stop one of the Johzenji students from slamming what seems to be a plank of sorts into Iwaizumi’s head. Iwaizumi was already incapacitated and bleeding on the ground prior to Oikawa’s arrival._ ”

The discipline master clenches his jaw so hard, Tooru can hear his molars grinding together in protest. The intercom button creaks under the pressure of his finger, the discipline master pressing on it with more force than necessary. Tooru randomly recalls the elder was a former baseball champion in his prime years. The sheer power these hands contain must be incredible.

“What can you tell me about the two girls? Can you identify them?”

“T _hey are students of Aoba Johsai, second years from Class Four. One of them seems to have filmed the fight from a distance. They were the last to leave the scene._ ”

“Thank you for your work. Compile the relevant footages along with the eyewitnesses’ personal information, and bring them to my office.”

“ _Will do._ ”

Tooru exhales. Thank god Iwaizumi is sharp enough to bring up the security cameras. Now that they have physical evidence, Johzenji can kiss goodbye to playing victim. Tooru isn’t going down alone.

“It appears I have been terribly misinformed,” the discipline master articulates in a low, deadly tone, bringing a shiver up Tooru’s spine. “Indeed, Johzenji High was very adamant and self-righteous in their demand for compensation, claiming their students to be guileless victims. Whether deliberate or otherwise, I will be contacting them again myself to find out. Oikawa, I apologize for my misjudgement. Rest assured I will be setting things straight with Johzenji High over their mindless accusation.”

“Oh, uh,” Tooru stumbles, not expecting the elder to call himself out. “It’s okay! About the suspension...?”

“We can discuss that later,” the discipline master says, waving him off. “For now, I need to review the security footage and contact Johzenji High. If you boys have nothing else to report, go wait outside while I sort things out.”

“Yessir!” Tooru doesn’t waste a second, pressing Iwaizumi’s head down in a bow before grabbing his hand and hurrying out of the office without being told twice. Altogether, they’re out of there in three seconds flat. Efficiency has always been Tooru’s thing.

Outside, the waiting area has never looked more welcoming. The fluorescent lights and musty draft no longer grate on Tooru’s nerves, and the haworthia looks perkier than before, looking lovely in its corner. Tooru catches the eye of the student staff, who gives him and Iwaizumi a thumbs up, smiling as she holds up a manila folder in triumph.

“You sounded so professional over the intercom!” Tooru praises. “Bless you, angel! Thank you for putting in a good word for us~”

“Thanks, we really appreciate it,” Iwaizumi adds. “And sorry for the trouble we’ve caused you.”

“No problem, I was merely doing my job. Please take a seat while you wait. I’ll go and hand over the materials to the DM.”

Blowing her a kiss, Tooru waits until the student staff walks out of sight before throwing himself into a chair.

“That was exhausting,” Iwaizumi comments.

“Mm.”

“Not like you to beat a hasty retreat though.”

“Are you kidding? I’m not staying in there a minute longer. Didn’t you sense the shift in the air at the end? The fire in his eyes? It’s like his inner raging bull has been let out to run free in the city,” Tooru says, rubbing his tired eyes. “Johzenji’s in for a rude awakening.”

“They made the wrong move. DM’s infamous for his overprotectiveness over Seijoh’s prestige,” Iwaizumi says. “Think he’ll change his mind about your club suspension?”

“He better. I’m not missing one month’s worth of practice.”

“At least we have Intercom Girl on our side. Never thought I’d be saying this but good thing she’s your fan,” Iwaizumi concedes. “What’s her name?”

“Why do you want to know?” Tooru asks, sitting up stiffly at Iwaizumi’s question. It can’t possibly be...

“Because she helped us a lot and it’s impolite of me to keep calling her Intercom Girl just because I don’t know her name?” Iwaizumi says, confused. “What’s up with you?”

“Never mind, false alarm,” Tooru mutters to himself, loosening up. It’s been such a tiresome day, even his brain is playing tricks on him now. “I don’t know her name. Why would I?”

“Thought you’d know since she’s your fan and all. Wait, you think she might be in that forum of yours?” Iwaizumi wonders. “I hope she’s not a crackhead like @oikawasfootrest.”

“Why do you keep saying that?” Tooru asks, blinking at Iwaizumi. He can’t wait to go home and take out his contact lens—the air is drying out his eyes so bad. Tired and not in the mood to be annoying, Tooru sets Iwaizumi straight. “She’s not my fan. If anything, she likes you, not me.”

“What bullshit are you on now?”

“She says your name first before mine when she talks to us,” Tooru says, listing off on his fingers. “She’s been stealing peeks at you the whole time, even while on the phone. She’s too shy to look you in the eye. She brushes her hair behind her ear every time you look at her. She didn’t respond to my flying kiss, not even a faint blush. Need I say anymore?”

“Stop making shit up. You don’t know all that, you barely even spoke to her.”

“It’s called observation, Iwa-chan,” Tooru deadpans. “It’s something you do with your eyes. You should try it sometime.”

“Eat shit,” Iwaizumi throws back, turning away from him.

Scowling, Tooru pinches Iwaizumi’s thigh, then escapes to the other end of the waiting area before the latter can retaliate. Searching his pockets, Tooru pulls out his eye drops, dripping medication into his eyes. He’ll need to stay sharp for later, and he can’t do that while furiously blinking away.

Whiling away the time, Tooru decides to talk to the haworthia, spewing out as many good things he can think of on the spot. When he runs out of ideas, he turns to the internet for cute animal facts to read aloud. It is his duty to save Iwa-chan’s plant cousin.

Just as Tooru is about to search up pretty words and phrases, they’re called back in. That was fast. Maybe efficiency is also the discipline master’s thing.

This time, the student staff remains in the room with them, standing by the discipline master’s desk, notepad and pen ready. The whole setting makes it seem like they’re receiving a court sentence.

(Not that Tooru has ever stepped into a courthouse before.)

“Johzenji High has issued an official apology to Aoba Johsai, and the both of you,” the discipline master says, cutting to the chase. “All five first years came clean as soon as they were shown the security footage. They’ve apologized, and are reflecting on their actions. I hear a certain Terushima Yuuji from the Johzenji volleyball team has also stepped up to apologize on behalf of his juniors. He especially extends his apology to you, Iwaizumi.”

 _Reflect? Yeah, right. Those rats wouldn’t even have ‘fessed up if not for the hard evidence_ , Tooru scoffs. _Bunch of losers with no backbone._

“As this has caused public concern, both Aoba Johsai and Johzenji High will be releasing a collaborative statement publicly tomorrow on the results of our investigation, and to offer our apologies. Naturally, Oikawa’s name will be cleared then. It has been decided that the Johzenji students involved will be suspended for a week, and banned from club activities for a month. They will also be required to undergo corrective behavior therapy with Johzenji’s in-house counsellor,” the discipline master shares. “Now all that’s left is to decide what to do with you two. Let me make this clear: no matter who started it first, fighting is strictly prohibited. Therefore, the _both_ of you will face disciplinary action. Iwaizumi, do you have any objections to my decision?”

Iwaizumi glances at Tooru, hesitating in his response. Uh oh, that’s not good. Tooru knows that look. It’s the Iwa-chan is Going to Say Something He Knows Will Definitely Make Tooru Angry face. _No_ , it’s _not_ on his Greatest Hits: Iwa-chan’s Face list. Tooru detests it with a fiery passion. That face doesn’t deserve a spot, not even last place.

“No, sir,” Iwaizumi answers. “I was expecting this from the start.”

Called it.

“What do you mean you expected this? What is this nonsense, Iwa-chan? You’re the _victim_. You didn’t do anything wrong. Why do you have to be punished?” Tooru asks, frustrated. “Iwa-chan, you’re—you—so stupid!”

Iwaizumi wraps his fingers around Tooru’s wrist, as if to stop him from protesting any further. Not having any of that, Tooru shakes off Iwaizumi’s hand. He doesn’t want to be touched, or be silenced any further. Everything is so unfair and Tooru wants to scream. He forgets where he is, and what he’s here for. His anger at Iwaizumi washes out everything. Why is Iwaizumi always trying to be a good person? Why is he playing nice? He’s the victim, and he’s being punished. For fighting back. For defending himself.

Tooru hates it here.

“Oikawa,” Iwaizumi warns, almost whispering. “Now’s _not_ the time to be throwing a tantrum.”

“Don’t talk to me, I’m mad at you,” Tooru tells Iwaizumi coldly before robotically lowering his head to the discipline master. “Excuse me, sir. I’m simply appalled at the stupidity of my friend here. It’s astounding how he actually thinks he deserves to be punished for trying to defend himself from being beaten to death. Iwa-chan has a gorilla brain with only three brain cells bouncing off each other, you see. That’s why he thinks self-defense equals fighting. I’ll be sure to feed him brain supplements when we return home. He already has a small brain as it is, and I think it’s been shrinking ever since he ate expired jelly on purpose when he was seven. If it becomes too small, Iwa-chan will have to live the rest of his life as a goldfish. How sad!”

“Are you serious right now, Trashykawa?” Iwaizumi growls. “You were the one who gifted me the damn jelly in the first place. I only ate it because you wouldn't stop crying when you found out I didn’t eat it and thought I didn’t want to be your friend anymore, dumbass! You’re so fucking irrita—”

Giggles fill the room right then, effectively shattering the tension in the room. It helps shake Tooru out of the haze of his anger, and stop Iwaizumi from saying things he’d regret saying in front of the discipline master. Three sets of eyes land on the culprit.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” the student staff squeaks, hiding her face behind her notepad, giggles still bubbling out of her. “It’s just, I’ve never seen anyone have a lovers’ spat in the DM’s office, of all places. Oikawa-san, you’re so funny! And the look on Iwaizumi-san’s face! Priceless!”

“A lover—a—” Iwaizumi chokes, fumbling on his words. “No, no. Oikawa’s just being an idiot. Please ignore him.”

The discipline master clears his throat once, and the commotion dies down. Iwaizumi’s face is so red, it looks like he has a bad sunburn. Tooru pinches himself hard, desperately trying to stifle his laughter. He can’t laugh—he’s supposed to be mad at Iwaizumi.

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear any of that, so let us start over, shall we? That was quite the outcry, Oikawa,” the elder remarks, not without amusement. “Now, if I were to levy the same punishment the Johzenji students received on the both of you at this point, I would be, figuratively speaking, fanning the flames, won’t I?”

“ _Yes_ , because that’s not fair!” Tooru protests, earning himself a pinch on the wrist. Affronted, he stares daggers at Iwaizumi.

“Indeed, you’ve made your opinion clear as day, Oikawa. That is why, on account of your honesty and forthcomingness, I’m going to give the both of you a chance to argue your case. You have five minutes to convince me otherwise.”

Gazes meeting, Tooru and Iwaizumi nod, coming to a silent agreement: _let’s do this_.

“A month-long ban is simply unthinkable right now,” Tooru starts. “The Interhigh Preliminaries are coming up soon, and it’s vital that all members are present at each and every practice in order to coordinate strategies. We _need_ to secure a spot at Spring High. As regulars and leaders, Iwaizumi being the team’s ace and vice-captain, and I the primary setter and captain, our absence will surely be sorely felt. No matter how willing we are to put in extra hours, and we already are, it’ll be impossible for us to make up for a month’s worth of practice in time for Interhigh. Secondary, this isn’t fair to our team. Casting aside the fact that it is only right for the Johzenjis to receive harsher punishment because of their premeditation to hurt Iwaizumi, those rats—I mean, those first years—they aren’t regulars. Some of them aren’t even on the bench. Chances are, they won’t even be participating in the matches. Club suspension for them is far less damaging to their team than for us to ours.”

The discipline master nods once. “Anything from you, Iwaizumi?”

“Sir, Oikawa and I are deeply reflecting on our conduct, and we fully understand that punishment is due. However, we sincerely ask for your leniency and reconsideration on the matter of the ban,” Iwaizumi says, bowing. “Our absence from practice will detrimentally affect the overall performance of the team on the court. Besides, the team is in low spirits right now, and low morale serves no purpose except one, sir.”

“And what may that be?”

Squaring his shoulders, Iwaizumi looks straight in the elder’s eyes, solemn and respectful. “ _Defeat_.”

Tooru swoons on the inside. _How can Iwa-chan be so handsome!_

The discipline master doesn’t say a single thing after that, inspecting the both of them with razor-sharp eyes. Tooru feels quite seen, and he doesn’t like this feeling. He can’t wait to hightail out of this stuffy, aesthetically dull room. What even is that hideous painting hanging in the corner? The paint color of the walls? Downright abysmal. It’s enough to drive Tooru up the walls—no pun intended—if he has to sit in this room all day. He wonders if the elder picked it out himself.

“Defeat,” the discipline master reiterates, the shadow of a smile on his lips. “Well, we certainly can’t have that, can we?”

“No, sir,” Iwaizumi affirms. “We can’t.”

“Quite the tag team, the both of you,” the discipline master comments. “Well, what do you two propose then?”

“We will gladly carry out our punishment during off season,” Iwaizumi says. “In the meantime, please allow us to participate in club practices as per usual.”

“How about a deal?” Tooru suggests, impish grin on his face. “If the team makes it to Spring High without a hitch, the school will revoke our punishment. I think that’s a fair trade, seeing how we’d be bringing honor to the school.”

“Oikawa, I assure you bartering with me will not lead you to the end result you desire,” the elder says, unimpressed. “It would do you good to rethink your words before vocalizing them in future.”

“Sorry, sir,” Tooru apologizes without feeling a tad bit sorry at all. It’s just too bad the elder didn’t take the bait.

Crossing his fingers together on his desk, the discipline master deliberates over their words. Tooru notices the elder keeping his eyes on Iwaizumi, taking in the latter’s humble stance, bowing slightly as he waits for judgement. Hmm, should he bow too? Would that help soften the elder’s heart of steel? Nah, he’s too shrewd to be fooled. Besides, Tooru has already apologized multiple times, so that should count for something. Definitely not bowing.

“Oikawa made a good point. We certainly stand to lose more compared to Johzenji High,” the discipline master acknowledges. “Very well, here’s what it’s going to be. Oikawa, you’ll be suspended for three days, and banned from club for two weeks. Iwaizumi, you’re banned from club for a week. The both of you will submit your letters of apology and reflection to my office by tomorrow. Iwaziumi, you can bring Oikawa’s letter with you to school tomorrow.”

“But—”

“My words are final, Oikawa,” the elder stresses. “The school needs to uphold discipline. If you think you can get a free pass out of this, you thought wrong. If you think this is unfair, then you shouldn’t have been fighting in the first place. If you had thought twice before you acted, you wouldn’t be in my office right now. The school will notify your parents by tonight.”

 _No, even if I were to think through it a million times, I would’ve done the exact same thing, and worse_ , Tooru thinks. _My only regrets are Iwa-chan getting injured, and getting caught. I will never forgive those Johzenji rats._

Tooru doesn’t say this aloud, of course. What he says is, “Understood.” This earns him an almost-smile from Iwaizumi. Worth it.

“I hope the both of you have learned your lesson. I must emphasize again: as students of Aoba Johsai, it is pertinent you remember to always uphold the school’s prestige as ambassadors of the school. Fighting is strictly prohibited,” the discipline master reminds. “Iwaizumi, your teachers have reported that you seem to be doing quite alright in classes despite your injuries. I’m glad to hear that. If you need time off school to recuperate, bring a medical letter to your homeroom teacher. Don’t push yourself too hard. Health comes first.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you.”

“Good, that is all for today. Now get out of my office and stay out of trouble, hear me?”

Dutifully, they bow, Tooru waving goodbye to the student staff before following Iwaizumi out the door. He doesn’t miss the way her gaze lingers on Iwaizumi. Called it.

Walking away, Tooru draws up a timetable in his head, rearranging dates and times of the team’s schedule. He may be banned from club, but no one said anything about a bunch of high school boys meeting up in their free time on weekends to “play” volleyball all day. Tooru lets out a wicked smirk. No way is he giving up this fight.

So caught up in his mental battle with permutations, Tooru doesn’t realize his dire predicament until it’s too late. The moment they reach the waiting area, something terrible befalls him. Iwaizumi, the world’s biggest brute, turns on him, one arm around his neck, knuckles against his scalp. Tooru yelps, struggling to get out of Iwaizumi’s grip.

“Shittykawa, Trashykawa, Assikawa, Crappykawa. You dare say shit about me in front of the DM?” Iwaizumi huffs. “Die, you annoying brat!”

“Iwa-chan, you ogre! Fiend! Let me go, let me go!” Tooru cries, twisting his body in pain. His head feels like it’s on fire, which is no surprise because Iwaizumi is notorious for giving outrageously painful head noogies. No one on the team has ever experienced it without coming away with literal tears and a bruised ego.

When Tooru’s cries get too loud, Iwaizumi finally lets up, pushing him into one of the chairs to let him catch his breath. “Next time, shut up or I’ll shave your ugly head bald.”

Clutching his abused head, Tooru can’t even muster the energy to retort something rude. He surreptitiously wipes away the tears caught on his lashes, glowering at Iwaizumi who doesn’t even look like he cares. Miffed, Tooru sticks his tongue out at him. Pulling himself to his feet, Tooru makes his way to the haworthia, one hand rubbing his scalp.

“Shoo, Iwa-chan. I need alone time to say goodbye to this baby before we leave.”

Used to his quirks, Iwaizumi doesn’t bat an eyelid when Tooru starts stroking each and every leaf, whispering well-wishes to the succulent. He doesn’t jeer or question his sanity. He simply waits for Tooru by the door, tapping his feet to an imaginary beat.

It’s nice, to be able to freely indulge, to be himself without inhibition. It’s nice, to be loved like this.

“One final nice thing: yesterday, Iwa-chan told me for the first time ever that he’s in love with me!” Tooru whispers to the plant, almost inaudible. “This is the most powerful thing I can say to you, little one. Take the good energy and grow strong and healthy, ‘kay? Bye!”

Satisfied with his farewell, Tooru hurries towards the door, and is pleased when Iwaizumi holds it open for him. He suppresses a smile, and sweeps out the door loftily. “Don’t talk to me, I’m still mad at you.”

Behind him, Iwaizumi scoffs, “Fine by me.”


	8. in tandem

_**in tandem** [adjective] /ɪn ˈtæn.dəm/_  
_: alongside each other_  
_: together_

Sticking to his word, Iwaizumi doesn’t speak, and neither does Tooru. The walk home goes largely silent, both boys deep in thoughts. They have much to mull over.

Tooru sends out a collective text to the team informing them of the latest development, and ends it with a cryptic note to kiss their weekends goodbye for the next one month. Predicting an incoming flood of ???? and !!!! that will send his phone into a spasm, he mutes the chat and toggles back to his Notes, where an email draft and a new practice schedule is already half drawn up. Efficiency is definitely Tooru’s thing. Once he’s done with this, he’ll email it out to the coaches, along with a sincere apology (no, really!) and a full explanation of the situation. He’s surely going to get yelled at by Coach Mizoguchi, but Tooru is confident his proposal will be approved—Coach Irihata would understand its necessity. Apart from a couple of non-regular third years who need to attend cram school on Saturdays, Tooru is sure the rest of the team will be able to make it work. He knows everyone’s (except Kyotani’s) private schedules like the back of his hand.

Only, Tooru hits a snag midway. It’s quite troubling, a gigantic stumbling block that hinders his progress and may cause his entire plan to flop.

That is, Tooru can’t seem to change the color of the text (currently in boring black) of the revised schedule he’s working on on his phone. Turns out it’s only possible to do that on desktop, and the device he needs (i.e. his laptop) is out of reach at the moment, sitting in the mess of his eternally unmade bed. How inconvenient. Tech developers really need to up their game.

Whatever. Ugly as it may be, progress is still progress. Having something is better than nothing at all. Tooru will work on the rest later at home, after he gets to change the font color. He can’t bring himself to look at it any longer.

Left with nothing else to do, Tooru checks in online. Judging by the number of notifications amassed in his notification center, news must’ve spread far and fast. He has countless emails, texts, direct messages, mentions, and even calls. Who even _calls_ these days? What are they, boomers? With distaste, Tooru swipes those away from his screen. He’s about to forgo the whole thing when he sees it— _#iwaoi_.

So many _#iwaoi_ tweets.

On Twitter. Not the forum the admins run. Twitter, with a capital T.

Tooru’s tagged in so many _#iwaoi_ tweets, and their ship name is actually making numbers. On Twitter.

Whaaaaaat?

Tickled, Tooru scrolls through the tag, trying to wrap his head around the fanfare. The top tweet is by admin Tofu, clarifying the situation and defending Tooru’s actions. Attached is a short clip of him and Iwaizumi wrestling on the ground, yelling at each other, before it ends with them hugging it out on the pavement in broad daylight. Tooru dissolves into laughter as he reads the replies and quote retweets, ranging from _oikawa’s terrifying tf_ to _iwaizumi is so forgiving??_ to _shout out to the haters stfu_ to _there’s always two sides to the story_ to _justice for iwaoi!!!!!_ to _IWAOI GAY KINGS_ to _*chef’s kiss* ah the immaculate flavor of gay angst_.

“Iwa-chan, Iwa-chan! Look at this!” Tooru says with glee, showing Iwaizumi his phone, the intended silent treatment long forgotten. “We’re so gay, people are calling us gay kings!”

Iwaizumi barely glances at the screen, uninterested. “I’m not gay and you know that.”

“Oh right, you’re Tooru-sexual,” Tooru falters, thinking for a second. “That’s okay, you can be the ally knight and I’ll be the grand king!”

“You know I don’t actually know what you’re talking about, right?”

“You old man, I told you to get on Twitter. Why am I dating a total boomer? Ugh, it’s cramping my style.”

“Sounds like a you problem.”

“We are IwaOi _together_. We are a unit. My problem is your problem,” Tooru insists.

“Fuck off.”

“No, fuck _me_. Iwa-chan, fuck me, fuck me, _fuck me_!”

“Will you shut up already?” Iwaizumi says, checking for accidental eavesdroppers nearby. “We’re in public, you sex-crazed pervert.”

“If I do as you say, will you let me blow you when we get home?”

“No.”

“Handjob?”

“No.”

“Fine, we’ll make out then.”

“No.”

“You have to give me _something_ to work with, Iwa-chan!” Tooru complains. “How am I supposed to tide through this truly terrible dry spell otherwise?”

“Again, that sounds like a you problem. Wait, do you actually have a legit problem?” Iwaizumi asks, eyeing Tooru critically.

“Excuse me?”

“You keep yabbering about sex and popping boners out of nowhere. Your libido is like, sky high. Is that normal? Maybe you should get it checked.”

“H-hey! I am a normal teenager running on overflowing manly hormones, okay?” Tooru gets defensive, a light blush dusting his cheeks. “I have normal biological reactions and normal sexual fantasies, thank you very much. I am normal. This is normal! Stupid Iwa-chan, I bet _you_ are abnormal.”

“You literally get hard over everything I say and do these days, Shittykawa,” Iwaizumi calls him out, eyebrow cocked.

“No, I don’t!” Tooru refutes, flabbergasted.

“Lunch break. You were semi-hard after I told you to be good and that I’d reward you later, and definitely hard in the storage room. I saw _and_ felt it—you were hard,” Iwaizumi tells Tooru plainly. “That’s why I blocked you from view the whole time we were talking to the team. Don’t even get me started on what happened yesterday at my place.”

Gaping like a goldfish, Tooru panics. _Hnng, this is so embarrassing. Quick, think of something! Anything!_

“Pfft, you think I’d pop a boner just because we made out in a small, squeezy, stale storage room? You flatter yourself, Iwa-chan,” Tooru says, laughing nervously, eyes darting everywhere except in Iwaizumi’s direction.

_Tooru, you fool! That doesn’t even make sense. Iwa-chan literally just said he saw and felt it. Ughhhhh, I hate it here._

Iwaizumi stops walking, and Tooru automatically comes to a halt beside him. Neither does he look Iwaizumi’s way nor ask why they’ve stopped walking. Tooru knows the reason, knows what Iwaizumi wants from him. Fixing his gaze on Tooru, Iwaizumi waits for the inevitable outburst. Tooru wants to win this mind game. He keeps time in his head, tracking the passing seconds. Five, ten, thirty. Iwaizumi crosses his arms, and seeing the veins lining his forearms being accentuated with the movement almost derails Tooru from his counting. Almost. Tooru’s not that weak. He's going to win. Forty-eight, fifty-one, six—

“Except I totally did!” Tooru confesses, unable to bear the suspense any longer, covering his face with his hands. “I kept thinking about what you said and totally got hard and then we made out in the storage room and just as I thought we’re finally getting somewhere, Mattsun and Makki and the rest of the team suddenly appeared so I couldn’t do anything and just sat there s-u-f-f-e-r-i-n-g. I had to sneak off to the toilet to deal with it during fifth period because it refused to go away and was starting to hurt. It’s all your fault, Iwa-chan! I hate you!”

Iwaizumi guffaws, clutching at his sides. “You are such a loser. Oh my god, you gave yourself blue balls!”

“Iwa-chaaaaaaaaan, you’re so mean! If you’d just stick your dick into my—aannnghh!”

Smacking his palm into Tooru’s face, Iwaizumi all but shouts, “Okay, that’s enough. You can shut up now.”

Pulling Iwaizumi’s hand away from his face, Tooru clasps it tightly in his own. Leading the way home, Tooru continues, “I’m just saying, if you would just fuck me, raw and powerful, tight and hot, all my sexual tension would be flushed out in a jiffy. Won’t that be nice?”

“Suffer, bitch.”

“You kiss Iwa-mama goodnight with that mouth, Iwa-chan?”

“I kiss you. What does that say about you?”

“That I’m hot and irresistible.”

“Yet here you are, begging for dick.”

“Are you slut-shaming me?” Tooru gasps in mock offense, Mean Girls-style. American chick flicks are so dramatic and ridiculous and fun, it’s right up his alley. “I will have you know I take pride in being a shameless slut for Iwaizumi Hajime’s dick. I lust after his delicious ass. I will die happy if he crushes my head with those toned thighs. Have you seen his muscular, veiny arms? Hot damn. No one is sluttier than me when it comes to him. My boyfriend is hot stuff.”

“You’re impossible,” Iwaizumi groans, face ablaze. “Why are you like this?”

Tooru throws up a victory sign, sticking his tongue out. “The hustling never ends. I need to keep my man in check.”

“Keep yourself in check, stupid,” Iwaizumi says, mussing up Tooru’s styled hair, much to his annoyance.

Up ahead, Tooru sees the house. They’re almost there. The walk home is taking much longer than usual, Iwaizumi trying his best with every step. Tooru slows down for him, not minding the pace. One foot, one step. One Hajime, one Tooru. It’s a sunny but cool day, perfect weather for a stroll. Tooru savors this change in pace. Third year of high school has been a non-stop sprint, from the increased academic workload and intensive volleyball trainings to the migraine-inducing pressure of deciding where to go next from here. The next winding path he’ll take, the next milestone in his life. So much to expect, so much to achieve. Wherever he goes post-graduation, Tooru hopes good things await. He deserves that much. They all do.

It’s nice, to be unrushed, to take a breather every once in a while.

“—kawa. Oikawa? Tooru!”

“Huh?” Tooru starts. “Whazgoinon?”

“Don’t daydream as you walk, you’re gonna trip,” Iwaizumi nags. “I forgot something at school. Walk back with me?”

Blinking owlishly at the front door of the Iwaizumi household, Tooru says, “But we’re already home.”

“Is that a no?”

“We’re literally at the doorstep, Iwa-chan. The door is right in front of us. I don’t even need to move another step to reach the keypad,” Tooru justifies, not seeing the point when they’re practically home. He’s tired and so ready to take a nap in Iwaizumi’s bed. “You’re going to school tomorrow anyway. Get it then.”

Looking glum, Iwaizumi lets out a sigh. Shucking off his bag, he hands it over to Tooru. “Alright then, you stay here. Put my bag in my room.” Then, without another word, he walks back out to the street, hands into his pockets.

Seeing Iwaizumi’s forlorn figure go, Tooru’s heart sinks. _He’s going alone? Just like that? It’s not like Iwa-chan to give in so easily. Did I upset him?_

Not one to idle on the sidelines, Tooru jumps into action. He keys in the passcode at lightning speed, tosses his and Iwaizumi’s bags onto the stool beside the shoe rack with near precision (he is, after all, an ace setter), and gives chase, slamming the door shut behind him.

“Iwa-chan! Iwa-chan!” Tooru calls out. “Wait for me, I’ll go with you!”

Without missing a beat, Iwaizumi turns with his hand outstretched, walking backwards as he beckons, “Come here.”

A gentle breeze rustles the trees along the path, loose leaves floating lightly to the ground. It’s a short-lived summer snow. The afternoon sun bathes everything within sight golden. Everything it sees, it claims for its own. There, Iwaizumi stands, a miniscule masterpiece of nature, claimed by the sun. There, Iwaizumi stands, comfortably content. There, Iwaizumi stands, picture perfect.

Tooru holds up a fist with his left hand. He doesn’t check to see if Iwaizumi understood. He doesn’t need to. Iwaizumi knows, for sure. It has been Tooru’s signal to freeze since they were kids zooming around the neighborhood fighting imaginary villains. Swiftly grabbing his phone from his pocket, Tooru angles it to get everything he wants in the frame. The rapid shutter sound of burst shots is a melodic reassurance to his ears. The more, the better. Times like this, he wishes Hanamaki was here to take over and do justice to the view laid out in front of him.

Then again, it’s nice to keep this moment private.

“Are you going to make me wait long?” Iwaizumi asks, still waiting from afar, unmoving from his spot.

Opening his fist, palm facing out, Tooru expects Iwaizumi to move once he unfreezes him, but nothing happens. Perplexed, he asks, “Why aren’t you coming to me?”

Hand still outstretched, Iwaizumi shakes his head, repeating, “Come _here_.”

Tooru goes, hand reaching towards Iwaizumi. Of course he goes.

An arm’s length away, fingers almost touching, Tooru stops. He expects Iwaizumi to take his hand. Again, his expectation falls short. Nothing happens.

“Well, I’m here.”

“Not quite,” Iwaizumi objects, voice low and quiet, eyes on the infinitesimal gap between their fingers. “Come here, to me.”

Tooru goes. Of course he goes.

Slipping his fingers into Iwaizumi’s grasp, Tooru finds rough calluses and solid warmth, finds his place in this world. Tooru finds home.

There is something here to be unraveled. Tooru turns it over in his mind, slicing it paper-thin to better analyze each and every facet. _He won’t come to me. He made me go to him. He’s showing me something. A choice? No, not just a choice. My choice. He’s... showing me that he’ll wait. For me; for when I’m ready. That it’s okay if there ever is distance between us, once separation knocks on our door. He’ll be there, wherever there may be. I have nothing to worry about—all I have to do is go to him. Does this mean Iwa-chan will always be waiting where I can see him? Waiting for me to return to him, to return home?_ Of course, Tooru doesn’t vocalize this. Even he is too bashful to say something so cheesy out loud. Some things are best kept secrets, close to heart. He doesn’t care if he’s reading too much into it. The conclusion he arrives at buoys his spirits.

Fingers tip-tapping on the back of Iwaizumi’s hand, Tooru does a silly dance to the rhythm of euphoria, body saturated with serotonin.

“Someone’s happy,” Iwaizumi notes. “I thought you didn’t want to go?”

“I need to protect Iwa-chan from stranger danger!” Tooru declares, puffing out his chest. “No fear, for Tooru is here!”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Hey, what’s with the lukewarm reaction? My fans would be over the moon if I said this to them.”

“Exactly. I’m not your fan. Ew.”

Insulted, Tooru stomps on Iwaizumi’s shoe. “Boo, you have no taste.”

“I’m literally dating you. If I have no taste, what does that say about you?” Iwaizumi jests.

Tooru’s jaw drops, thoroughly offended. “How _dare_ you? You take that back right this instant!”

When Iwaizumi doesn’t attempt to pacify him, Tooru sulks, stewing in his own annoyance at having checkmated himself. Where is the royal respect he deserves? His fans would never treat him like this.

Ah, speaking of fans...

“Iwa-chan, I need to give you a heads up,” Tooru says, recollecting the _#iwaoi_ chaos on Twitter. “If I guess right, you’re going to have a lot more random people you don’t know or recognize hanging around you. I won’t be able to deflect them for you since, you know, suspension. So you gotta be on your toes, ‘kay? I’ll get Mattsun and Makki to help you out so you don’t feel too uncomfortable. ‘Tis the price to pay, to be famous.”

“What? Why? Who’s famous? I’m not. What?” Iwaizumi asks, confusion aplenty. “I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

“Heh, you’re glitching, Iwa-chan! Okay, alright. See, the thing is…” Tooru starts to explain from the beginning, swinging their hands back and forth as they make the returning trip to school. It’s a lengthy explanation, since Tooru can’t exactly just show Iwaizumi his Twitter feed and leave him to it. Not only is Iwaizumi not at all interested in stan culture, he doesn’t get it. Not the concept, why it exists, or how it matters. Nada. Zilch. Tooru doesn’t mind. Iwaizumi is more of an offline person, so it’s fun introducing the things he doesn’t know about the online world to him. The best part is definitely laughing at Iwaizumi’s weirded out expressions when Tooru tells him about the stupid things people do that go viral online.

It’s nice, seeing Iwaizumi listen to him talk. Tooru likes it.

Whoever said time flies when you’re having fun really knew what they were talking about. In a blink of an eye, they’re back at school, as if they’ve never left. For some strange reason, Iwaizumi sends Tooru away when they reach the now deserted homeroom of Class Five, telling him to meet back at the front gate in a couple of minutes.

Tooru’s eyes narrow. Now ain’t _that_ suspicious.

Tapping on his inner spy, Tooru plays it cool, whistling as he makes to leave. When he gets to the end of the corridor, he doubles back, creeping on tiptoes. Standing in a blind spot with the door as cover, Tooru peeks inside.

_Let’s see what’s got Iwa-chan acting so secretively._

What Tooru sees entirely baffles him.

All Iwaizumi does is sit at his desk, absentmindedly opening and closing his drawer. That’s it, that’s the whole story. Tooru crouches in his corner, willing Iwaizumi to do something more interesting. Anything at all. He’s raring to go, in position to catch him in the act, except Iwaizumi literally does nothing else. What is his problem?!

_I swear to god, if Iwa-chan made us walk back just to play with his drawer, I’m going to strangle him. Come on, come ooooooon! I believe in you, Iwa-chan! Do something!_

To Tooru’s utter disappointment, the minutes trickle away with no progress on Iwaizumi’s part. Just as Tooru’s about to storm the room and demand an explanation, Iwaizumi gets up from his seat, tucking in his chair before heading for the door—the very door Tooru is concealed behind. Startled, Tooru panics, slinking away to hide in the empty classroom next door. He holds his breath, only relaxing when he no longer hears Iwaizumi’s footsteps.

“What am I doing?” Tooru wonders aloud, head hanging. Hiding around like this makes him feel like he is Iwaizumi’s dirty little secret. Great, now he hurt his own feelings.

“That’s my question. What the hell are you doing?”

Hands flailing, Tooru lets out a shriek and accidentally cuffs himself in the jaw. “Owwww!”

“Are you stupid?” Iwaizumi tsks, kneeling beside the desk Tooru has chosen to hide under. He tilts Tooru’s face sideways, checking on the damage done.

“Iwa-chan? I thought you left! Ow, it hurts!” Tooru whines, pressing his face into Iwaizumi’s palm. “Kiss it better.”

“You’re fine, it won’t even bruise,” Iwaizumi determines. “What are you doing here? I told you to meet me out front.”

“I… I got bored waiting, so I came back up,” Tooru lies. “Iwa-chan is a slowpoke! Do you know how strong the afternoon sun is? The UV rays will burn my skin! Skin cancer is a thing, okay?!”

“O… kay? What’s gotten into you?”

“What.”

“Dunno. You’re like, acting weird.”

“No, I’m not. Not me. No. You’re the weird one. Weirdo,” Tooru spews nonsense, guilty conscience talking.

The unimpressed look Iwaizumi gives him says just as much.

“Whatever. You’re done, right? What did you forget anyway?” Tooru asks, shifting the spotlight away from his blunder.

“None of your business,” Iwaizumi says, marching away. “Let’s go.”

Giving up isn’t Tooru’s style. Surely Iwaizumi knows that by now. He badgers Iwaizumi on the way home (again), fishing for clues. He’s positive Iwaizumi didn’t take anything from his desk, and his pockets look empty, save for his phone. Mayhaps a slip of paper? It’s certainly thin enough to evade detection. Tooru eyes the potential hiding spots with intent, deciding to go for it. If it’s a love confession, Tooru has the right to know who his audacious enemy is. Casually slipping his hand into Iwaizumi’s right pocket, Tooru comes up with nothing. Deftly switching sides, he goes for Iwaizumi’s left pocket, finding only his phone. Aha, he’s now two pockets closer to the truth.

“What are you doing?” Iwaizumi questions, not stopping him.

“Warming up my hands.”

“With my pockets? You have your own. Also, weren’t you complaining about the heat earlier on?”

“That was then, this is now. Don’t be so stingy, Iwa-chan. This is supposed to be a romantic thing! In fact, _you_ are supposed to take _my_ hand, warm it up with your breath, then put our enclasped hands into your pocket.”

“No.”

No longer paying attention to the conversation, Tooru takes advantage of Iwaizumi’s momentary state of distraction and goes for a frontal hug, sliding his hands into Iwaizumi’s back pockets. Empty. Four pockets closer to the truth!

Tooru grins. He might have metaphorically come up empty-handed, but his hands are most certainly and quite literally full. Since he’s already here, he might as well make it worth the trouble. Tooru squeezes, getting a full grope of Iwaizumi’s ass. _Nice_.

Next thing Tooru knows, he’s being shoved away. How rude! Before Iwaizumi can slap him across the head, Tooru leaps away. Growling, Iwaizumi tries, and fails to grab Tooru. This frustrates him even more, having Tooru slip through his fingers when he’s right there in front of him. Playing with fire, Tooru criss-crosses his eyes and sticks out his tongue at Iwaizumi. He isn’t worried at the very least—Iwaizumi’s injuries mean Tooru easily outruns him. With Iwaizumi hot on his heels, he skips ahead, cackling wildly not unlike the way Stitch did when it first landed in Hawaii. Reaching first, Tooru vaults over the gate like he’s made for hurdling, making a final dash to the house. Safely inside, he flips the door latch. There, now Iwaizumi is locked out.

Soon enough, Tooru hears the telling sound of the code being entered, Iwaizumi cursing up a storm on the other side. Tooru’s lowkey glad he can count on the trustworthy latch. It goes without saying the door doesn’t open even after the keypad has been activated. Tooru: 1, Iwa-chan: 0. Gotta love old mechanics.

Pounding on the door, Iwaizumi yells, “Open the door, asshole! This is my house!”

“Not until you tell me why you made us walk back to school!” Tooru shouts back. “And don’t tell me you forgot something! I was spying on you the whole time—you did nothing except sit at your desk and play with your drawer! Iwa-chan is a liar, liar, pants on fire!”

On the other side, Iwaizumi falls silent. Aha, guilty as charged.

“It’s no big deal,” Iwaizumi speaks up after a couple of seconds, mumbling. Tooru has to strain to catch the rest of his sentence. “I just wanted to make it up to you, I guess.”

Hmm, what’s this about? Curiosity winning him over, Tooru opens the door with caution, ready to slam it shut in Iwaizumi’s face in case of a ploy. “What?”

Wearily, Iwaizumi says, “I know you have this thing about this year being our last year or something. You’re keeping track, aren’t you? How many more school lunches together as four, club practices, going to school and back home with me, stuff like that. I’ve seen the records in your journal. Not on purpose though—you left it open on my bed the other day.”

Tooru inhales sharply, eyes big with surprise.

“I dunno, it’s been bugging me the whole day. Sorry if I made you sad. It works, right? We just walked to school together so that’ll make up for the one we missed out this morning. Now your count will even out,” Iwaizumi says. “Oh crap, we walked back together too. Damn it, I unbalanced it again. Okay, let’s do the math. Your suspension equals three days and—”

“Thank you, Iwa-chan,” Tooru says, enveloping Iwaizumi in a hug. Recalling, he asks happily, “You left when I refused to walk back to school with you at first. How did you know I would follow you? Is it because you trust that I’ll go wherever you’d be at? Aww, that’s so cute!”

“Nah, I knew you’d tag along in the end because you’re the nosiest motherfucker I know. When have you ever not poke your nose into my shit? Oikawa Tooru, minding his own business? That’s hilarious shit.”

“Rude, Iwa-cha—”

“Iwaizumi Hajime! How _dare_ you use that foul language in my house?!” a scandalized voice berates from seemingly out of nowhere. “Apologize to Tooru-kun at once!”

Spooked, the both of them jump apart, neither expecting company. Tooru swivels around to investigate, and immediately wishes he hasn’t. Turns out they aren’t the only ones in the house. There on the tatami mats in the living room, two mothers sit with their pot of tea, complete with dour expressions and crossed arms. Uh oh.

Giving the women a timid wave, Tooru greets sheepishly, “H—hi? We’re home?”

“Welcome home, Tooru-kun,” Iwa-mama says, unsmiling but tone warm. “Well, aren’t you going to greet your elders, Hajime?”

“Hi, Mom. Hi, Oikawa-san. I’m home,” Iwaizumi greets dutifully, toeing off his shoes.

The second Iwaizumi steps into the house, no longer obscured and backlit by the afternoon sun, Mother lets out a horrific scream impressive enough to rival that of a lead character being dragged into the pitch dark forest by an invisible, erratic force in a Thai horror flick. Embarrassingly, Tooru cuffs himself in the face again for the second time today out of shock. He tries to play it cool, only for Iwaizumi to lean in with a suppressed snort, saying, “I saw that, loser.”

“At least I’m not the one whose face looks like a botched plastic surgery,” Tooru snipes. “Let’s see how you’re going to wing it this time when you’re up against two all-knowing women who can see through our bluff at a glance. Just watch, they’re going to come straight for your sorry ass the moment Mother stops screaming her head off.”

“Damn,” Iwaizumi curses under his breath. “Why are they home so early? I thought I had more time.”

“Well, you thought wrong. Here they come. Good luck, Iwa-chan~” Tooru singsongs, ducking to the side. Only a fool would let himself be caught in the crossfire. Law of nature: mothers are not to be tested when their offspring is hurt, biological or otherwise.

A prophecy coming true, Tooru sees in slow-motion as the matrons of the Iwaizumi and Oikawa households scream, yell, and fuss over Iwa-chan in the exact same way the latter had predicted they would. He’s lowkey tickled watching Iwa-chan suffer at the hands of their nagging mothers, until Iwa-mama pulls Iwa-chan _and_ him out the door, insistent on going to the big hospital for a full body scan. Then it totally isn’t funny anymore. How she has the strength to lug along two student athletes twice her size, Tooru doesn’t know. Mothers are scary, period. Only when Iwa-chan hastily dials for the clinic does she change tactics, directing her energy instead into grilling the nurses that attended to them yesterday.

A good twenty-odd minutes later, sufficiently placated by repeated assurance from medical professionals (and a fresh pot of tea), both mothers slowly regain their composure. At the first sign of calm, both boys bow deep in apology, remorseful for upsetting them. They lay their cards on the table, coming clean. A pity delayed honesty doesn’t spare them of another round of dressing-down. Mothers can be so merciless.

By the time they are allowed upstairs to lick their wounds, Tooru feels like a petulant child being sent to the naughty corner to repent. Thoroughly spent, he falls face first into bed, wriggling under the blanket. There, he lies, unmoving, undisturbed. Iwaizumi doesn’t join him, instead puttering around the room, drawing the curtains, changing his clothes, that sort of stuff. The background noise helps him settle, though Tooru still feels something’s missing. Sticking his arm out of his cocoon, Tooru swings his hand wildly in the air. He hears feet shuffling towards the bed, then warmth spreads from his palm as Iwaizumi takes his hand, joining him under the blanket. Perfect.

“Better?”

“Much.”

“Can I kick the blanket off? It’s stuffy under here.”

“No.”

“We’re going to overheat.”

“Then we die like men.”

“You’re in a mood, huh.”

“Why, _excellent_ observation skills you’ve developed, Hajime-kun.” For this, Tooru gets pinched on the cheek. He whines, “Iwa-chan!”

“Don’t get sassy with me, dumbass,” Iwaizumi grumbles. “You know we got off easy. You should count your blessings.”

“I’m grounded for a month, Iwa-chan. A whole month. What’s the point of suspension if I can’t use that time to go gallivanting downtown? All that free time down the drain!”

“You’re a scumbag,” Iwaizumi says, flinging the blanket off the both of them.

“Heyyyyyy, why did you do that?” Tooru protests.

“Shut up, I’m not joining you in your quest to slowly suffocate to death. Are you ever going to get changed? Mom’s gonna nag again if she finds you lounging in bed in outside clothes.”

Straight away, Tooru shoots out of bed, shedding clothes as he goes. Grabbing a random shirt (Iwa-chan’s) and sweatpants (his own) from his side of the closet, he makes quick work of his state of undress. Eyeing the mess of clothes pooled on the floor, he kicks it into a corner and calls it a day. He doesn’t need his uniform for the next three days anyway. Fully clothed, Tooru flops back into bed. “You know what’s the best revenge?”

Arching his brow, Iwaizumi asks, “You beat up all five of them and you’re still not satisfied?”

Tooru tsks. “Iwa-chan, we’re volleyball players, not thugs. Have some pride, will you?”

“How are you so annoying?” Iwaizumi scowls.

“How are you so rude?” Tooru retaliates. “Come on, humor me.”

Giving in, Iwaizumi throws out a guess. “Spring High?”

“Pfft, as if those idiots can get that far,” Tooru laughs.

“You never know.”

Tooru loses his grin in an instance. “Iwa-chan!”

“Fine, fine. If not Spring High…” Iwaizumi trails off. “Interhigh?”

“Interhigh,” Tooru echoes, nodding firmly. “Just watch, I’m going to go full mode Spartan with training. They’re not going to stand a chance.” This earns him a smack right across the face. “What was that for, you gorilla!”

“What did I say about overworking yourself, Shittykawa?” Iwaizumi growls. “Don’t fucking try me.”

Tooru chickens out at once, swallowing the rest of his retort. He turns away, mouthing silently in an obnoxious imitation of the way Iwaizumi had spoken to him.

Iwaizumi snorts, nudging Tooru with his toes. “Together, we will train without pushing our bodies too much past the limit. Together, we will defeat Johzenji at Interhigh.”

Together. Tooru likes the sound of it. Iwaizumi’s words ring loud and clear in his mind. “Of course. A team has six players on the court, never just one. The team with the better six will always win, Iwa-chan. We will win, together.”

With a proud smile, Iwaizumi answers, “Damn right, and don’t you forget that.”

(Much later, as they try to muster enough motivation to go set the dining table for dinner, something comes to Hajime’s mind. “You know those first years aren’t even regulars, right?”

“Your point?” Oikawa asks, limbs flailing in his fifth attempt to sit up and get off the bed.

“Even if we match up with Johzenji at Interhigh, the probability of us facing off with those five on the court is really low. I doubt they’ll even make the cut to the playing roster.”

“Oh my god, Iwa-chan! Stop raining on my parade for once, you spoilsport!”

Without hesitation, Hajime kicks Oikawa off the bed, putting an end to his Sisyphean misery. Justice has been served once more.

In the kitchen, both mothers lift their heads upon hearing a heavy thump from upstairs. A scandalized shout, then what sounds like wrestling. They share a weary look, sipping their tea. Dumb sons.)


	9. détente

_**détente** [noun] /deɪˈtɑːnt/_  
_: the relaxation of strained ties or tension_

Once Oikawa gets everyone—coaches and teammates alike—on the same page to loophole the hell out of their club suspension, it’s a coordinated effort to pull off the newly minted practice schedule. Pulling strings, Oikawa and Coach Irihata manage to reserve two full courts at the community center for the team’s exclusive use—in full secrecy. As per Oikawa’s suggestion, to the public at large, those two courts will be closed for the time being due to a wear-and-tear issue in the ceiling. This way, Hajime and Oikawa can still train with the team on the down-low, without word traveling to the discipline master’s ears.

Hopefully. They can only hope at this point.

(God, Oikawa’s going to get them killed one of these days, sooner than later. Hajime doesn’t know why he said yes to Oikawa’s plan. Heck, he doesn’t know how Oikawa got _the coaches_ to agree to it. Everyone on the Seijoh volleyball team has lost their goddamn minds.)

Good thing the staff at the community center are well acquainted with Oikawa, thanks to his weekly coaching sessions with the kids there. They go above and beyond, shutting down access to the area whenever the team shows up, even taking it upon themselves to patrol the grounds, keeping a lookout. It damn sure pays to have people in your favor. Hajime has to say, he’s pretty impressed with Oikawa’s ability to get people to do his bidding.

To ensure the rest of the team doesn’t overwork, and to fully utilize time, Coach Mizoguchi allocates half of the time at club practices in school for assignments and revision until Oikawa’s official return. Naturally, his decision is met with an earful of complaints.

“Shut up, the whole lot of you, acting like I’m making y’all do this forever. It’s just two weeks, you punks,” Coach Mizoguchi grumbles. “The extra practices at the CC are going to take away a lot of homework time. Do you guys have any idea how much paperwork it’ll cost me if even one of you starts failing? Huh? Your academic teachers are going to be invading my gym, demanding answers. _Hell no_. The moment I catch wind of anyone’s grades slipping, or if any of your teachers comes hounding after me, I’m banning that person from Interhigh. I said what I said, now get to work.”

With the threat hanging over their heads, and Coach Irihata nodding his silent approval, the team begrudgingly accepts their fate. Homework it is.

As for Oikawa who is stuck at home, Hajime thinks he’s taking his suspension in stride fairly well. For the next three days, Oikawa waits at the door for Hajime to return from school. Without fail, when Hajime passes him his homework bundle for the day, Oikawa will pull a long face, flinging it away from him. Then, he’ll cling onto Hajime’s arm like a koala, demanding to hear about his day at school. The cutest part is, Oikawa has taken to cooking lunch for him (under adult supervision, of course) since he has so much free time with nowhere to go—beef fried rice with miso soup on the first day, the infamous curry udon with teriyaki chicken (prepackaged this time, thank god) on the second, and Hajime’s all-time favorite agedashi tofu with omurice on the third. Looking at the spread laid out on the table every afternoon, and Oikawa in his arms claiming his daily hug, Hajime is reminded again and again how lucky he is to be able to call Oikawa his own.

Time always seems to speed up when you want it to slow down. Three blissful, uneventful days pass in a flash, just like that. It is therefore with a dash of regret that Hajime returns Oikawa’s stray uniform he found in his room (washed and ironed by yours truly—yes, Hajime is aware he is spoiling Oikawa rotten) on the last day, reminding him not to oversleep even though it’s a futile attempt.

Sure enough, for all of Oikawa’s whingeing about missing out on the action in school (honestly, what action?), he still wakes up late on his first day back. Some things never change. They bicker the entire way to school, arguing over whose fault it is that Oikawa overslept. Hajime insists it’s Oikawa’s own damn fault for staying up late every night, while Oikawa goes off tangent on some bullshit about how only his circumstances are to be blamed, never him. Somehow, it never is Oikawa’s own fault. Some days, it’s the UFO documentary on air, or the romcom drama he’s chasing; on others, it’s the hair dryer for not working fast enough, or his dinner not settling well in his digestive system. Sometimes, when Oikawa really wants to push his luck, he’ll even claim it’s Hajime’s fault because he can’t stop wandering about in his mind, keeping him up at night. This earns Oikawa a hard rap on the head from Hajime. What the hell kinda dumbass logic?

When Hajime and Oikawa finally make it to school with minutes to spare, the latter is _still_ going on and on about how it’s very much not his fault—even though it is. Tenacity is an excellent quality in an athlete, and it’s making Hajime want to smash a volleyball in Oikawa’s annoying face.

It is in this distracted state, locked in a heated debate, that they’re unexpectedly met with the biggest shock (or surprise, depending on who you’re asking).

In the flashiest show of welcome, Hajime and Oikawa are greeted with thunderous applause and cheers from every single floor the moment they step foot in the courtyard. The scene is very much similar to the boisterous reception they get at matches, except this time it seems like the entire student body has been mobilized for this one moment. From the third floor, a group of second years unveils a handmade banner— _Welcome Back, Oikawa!_

It’s quite the sight, an accompanied symphony celebrating Oikawa’s grand comeback.

It’s bizarre and over-the-top and completely unnecessary.

It’s the exact thing to feed Oikawa’s ego and soothe his bruised pride.

Somewhere in the crowd, Hajime knows Hanamaki is capturing this scene with diligence, so he doesn’t bother taking out his phone to film. Wanting Oikawa to enjoy his moment to the fullest, Hajime steps aside, only to have Oikawa tug him back, gripping his blazer sleeve.

“Stay. This is yours, as much as this is mine.”

And so, Hajime stays.

Eating up the attention, Oikawa waves with regal in every direction. It’s too early for shrieks and screams, but Oikawa’s fangirls don’t seem to care for that. After the fourth round of high-pitched excitement, Hajime forbids Oikawa from waving in their direction anymore. That’s way too much noise pollution for one morning.

Still, despite Hajime’s best efforts to contain Oikawa from stirring up the crowd further, the hubbub doesn’t die down anytime soon, infectious energy boosting everyone’s spirits.

That is, until the discipline master shows up threatening to send everyone to detention, looking thoroughly peeved by the commotion. Then, it becomes a stampede as students flee the scene left, right, center, scattering like sand in the wind. When the dust settles, only Hajime, Oikawa, and the discipline master are left behind. Welcome banner fluttering limply in a passing breeze, the blanket of silence that suddenly descends upon them makes for an awkward moment.

Ever one for theatrics, Oikawa slowly raises both his hands in the air. “I swear, it wasn’t me.”

Shaking his head, the discipline master says, “It’s always you, Oikawa. When has it ever not been you?”

“I—It’s not my fault!” Oikawa insists, petulant. “Only my circumstances are to be blamed, never me.”

Hajime has to bite the inside of his cheeks to stop himself from bursting into uncontrollable laughter. There is a fine line between tenacity and stubbornness, and Oikawa is the lovechild of both.

Before the discipline master can say another word, the first period bell rings, saving them from a potential lecture. With a deep sigh, the elder motions for them to leave, and the both of them run off to their classrooms, giggling the entire way.

Through the power of the internet, their popularity shoots through the roof overnight. Lockers and desks overflowing with gifts and letters, Hajime and Oikawa receive an endless supply of confections, confessions, handmade charms, and even candles. Perhaps accustomed to such preferential treatment, Oikawa doesn’t seem fazed, even though his gifts triple that of Hajime’s, and the fans loitering outside his classroom has doubled in size.

When Hajime asks about it, Oikawa doesn’t brag like he expects him to, only saying, “Does it matter? One more, or one hundred more, they’re still ephemeral.”

Although Hajime doesn’t quite get it (it is _not_ embarrassing to admit he had to search up the word in the dictionary), Oikawa doesn’t elaborate, so he leaves it at that. Not wanting to unintentionally hurt anyone’s feelings, Hajime takes to sharing only his gifted snacks with his classmates and team, stuffing the remainder in a borrowed shopping bag to lug home. The mothers will be delighted to take his hands off the little trinkets. True to Oikawa’s words, Hajime notices more girls hovering around him. Some watch from a respectful distance, while the braver ones come up to initiate conversation. He doesn’t mind them that much; he only wishes people would stop staring and then giggling among themselves as if he’s not right in front of them. It confuses the heck out of Hajime. Does he say hi? Ignore their existence? Tell them to scram? What do they want from him?

Whatever it is, Hajime doesn’t dwell on it for long. With the Interhigh Preliminaries coming up, that is the least of his concerns.

At the next official match, in accordance with Oikawa’s will, Aoba Johsai matches up with Johzenji at the Interhigh Preliminaries semifinals.

Coach Irihata specifically sets aside time the night before the match to lecture the team on sportsmanship, and even pulls Hajime and Oikawa away after for a private chat. Understanding his concerns, Hajime is quick to reassure the elder that he neither holds a grudge against Johzenji nor has beef with their regulars. Johzenji is simply another strong contender to go up against, and he is super pumped to take on the unpredictability of Terushima and his team once more. He has his eyes on the ball, and no other distractions.

The same, however, cannot be said for the rest of the team, still ridiculously hung up on the incident, much to Hajime’s exasperation. Apparently Oikawa has given the team a highly unnecessary prep talk behind his back, blathering on about how ‘ _this match is not just a match anymore; it is a matter of pride and revenge for Iwa-chan—victory, or death!_ ’. Hajime only finds out when his team keeps coming up to him to swear their blood and honor. He brushes it off as a joke, until he catches Kyotani (who has been hanging around a lot more since he was jumped) of all people listening attentively as Oikawa tells him about his stupid agenda. Needless to say, Oikawa receives an epic smackdown of the century that day. The boys can fool around among themselves, but Kyotani is off limits. Involving the volatile second year would be too dangerous—he would _definitely_ take Oikawa’s words too literally and do something stupid and extreme to make his point.

(In Tooru’s defense, he thought it was a great idea to convince Kyotani to come back to the team in time for the Interhigh. Given how much Kyotani listens to Iwaizumi, it was worth a shot. It totally would’ve worked too, if only he wasn’t stopped. Some people just don't know how to appreciate his Big Brains Energy.)

The silver lining is, although he couldn’t get the team to stop acting like they are gearing up for war, Hajime manages to force out a promise from a whiny Oikawa—clutching his bruised forehead—to at least be civil and not bring up the incident at the match. Despite everything, Hajime doesn’t worry much. A little bit of unorthodox motivation never kills anyone. Besides, Johzenji’s regulars are pretty chill. The awkwardness would be inevitable, but surely they won’t be holding animosity against Seijoh.

Everything will be fine. What’s left is an epic showdown.

Except, everything is _not_ fine.

At the next official match, Hajime starts to think he might have underestimated just how deep a rift the incident might have left in its aftermath between both teams. As he takes in the scene, Hajime feels increasingly unsettled. It’s like he woke up in an alternate dimension. Both teams size each other up from their respective sides of the court, but no one makes the first move to wave hello, much less go over for friendly hugs or easy quips like they usually do. Though the five Johzenji first years are nowhere in sight, their absence speaks volume in the strained tension, thick and palpable and distasteful. Hajime hates it. He catches Terushima staring intensely, but when their eyes meet, the second year turns away immediately. Hajime frowns, then decides to let it go for now.

Terushima can wait. Hajime has something more important to deal with right now.

Naturally, this can only refer to one person.

Taking precaution, Hajime hasn’t let Oikawa out of his sight since they set foot in the gymnasium. He can’t put a finger on it, but something feels off about Oikawa, and he is determined to figure it out, preferably before the match. An inspiration strikes him, and Hajime quickly goes through some of Oikawa’s habits when he’s on the court.

Flirting with his female fans cheering for him from the stands? Check.

Annoying the team by gloating in their faces about the attention he is getting from said fans? Check.

Blasting powerful serves that guarantee rebounds into the audience to show off? Check.

Making snide comments about their opponents? Chec—No, wait, that’s still unchecked.

Oh. _Oh_.

Hajime’s brain short-circuits. Is Oikawa actually making an effort to keep his promise? Fondness floods his system, and Hajime tries to tamp down the huge grin threatening to overcome him before anyone sees him smiling like the fool he is. He, Iwaizumi ‘Stoic’ Hajime, has a reputation to uphold.

“Yoohoo, Iwa-chan! Have the aliens got to you?” Oikawa pops up, peering into Hajime’s face with those wonderful chocolate orbs. _Cute_ , Hajime thinks. Not that he is going to tell Oikawa that. No need to inflate that ginormous ego even more.

“The referee is calling for captains, dumbass,” Hajime huffs, shoving Oikawa’s face away. Oikawa shoots him a faux hurt expression as he walks away, and immediately the fans above start grouching about him being too rough with Oikawa. _Assikawa, I will get you back for this_ , Hajime curses inwardly.

As the captains shake hands before the referee, Hajime keeps a watchful eye for any potential hand-crushing acts. There came none. Only a quick and firm shake before both captains return to their respective positions. Another wave of fondness rushes through him, and Hajime shakes his head furiously to clear his mind.

Seijoh gets the first serve, and the audience cheers when they realize Oikawa’s jump serves will be making an early appearance in the game. The Johzenji team shifts restlessly, six pairs of hungry eyes tracking Oikawa as he ambles to the back of the court. This game might turn out to be a tough tussle. This gets Hajime’s blood pumping, hands itching to get to the ball.

Prepping his serve, Oikawa chirps merrily from the back, “I’ll be counting on you guys~”

The effect is instantaneous. The team sharpens up, and Hajime regains his inner peace. The whistle goes off, and the game fires off in earnest. Show time.

As reliable as can be, Oikawa’s jump serves rack up points, directly widening the gap between Seijoh and Johzenji. The crowd goes wild every time the ball slams into the ground on Johzenji’s side, much to the latter’s annoyance. Oikawa aside, the MVP award definitely goes to Watari. He performs at 120%, strategically planting himself on the court, handling every difficult dig that troubles the team. Liberos are truly a blessing from the higher beings above. Coupled with the Johzenji team internally fighting for the ball and therefore resulting in haphazard spikes and many misses, the first set closes at 20–25 in Seijoh’s favor.

The second set proves to be way tougher, the Johzenji team having finally found their footing on the court. The harder the Seijoh spikers hit, the more ludicrous and successful Johzenji’s receives become. At one point, Johzenji’s #4 somersaults through the air to send the ball to their setter. What the hell? This is more like going up against acrobats at gymnastics than actual volleyball. With their dogged attacks, Watari grows fatigued fast. Thankfully, Kunimi comes through in the clutch, stepping in with his reserve energy. At match point, to no one’s surprise, Oikawa sets the ball to Hajime, whose spike blasts past Johzenji’s defense with a resounding bang, closing the second set at 23–25 in Seijoh’s favor.

The whistle blows; the match concludes. Interhigh Preliminaries semifinals, Aoba Johsai versus Johzenji—final score: 2–0.

At the next official match, Aoba Johsai advances through and qualifies for the Interhigh Preliminaries final against Shiratorizawa; Johzenji loses, and makes Top Four in the Miyagi prefecture.

*********

Post-match, the Seijoh volleyball team runs high on adrenaline. Under the chaotic lead of their captain Oikawa Tooru, they roughhouse through cool-downs and clean-ups, yelling and jostling each other in good spirits. On a normal day, Iwaizumi Hajime would’ve felt obligated as the sensible vice-captain to yell at them for being a public nuisance, but he’s feeling really good about winning, so he lets them be. He takes little sips from his bottle, content to see his team fool around. They haven’t had so much laughter since the incident, and Hajime had felt guilty about bringing down the team’s mood. Looking at them now, he feels as free as a bird soaring through the sky.

A pity the moment is fleeting, quickly replaced by wariness when Hajime sees Terushima marching right up, looking terribly grim and determined. The other Johzenji regulars stagger behind, trying to keep up. At once, the roughhousing comes to a complete halt, as the Seijoh team suddenly regroups. Hajime flushes to the tips of his ears when he realizes his team has strategically positioned themselves around him, with Oikawa standing protectively in front of him. Out of the corner of his eye, Hajime swears he sees Kyotani bristling.

Both teams square up, and the atmosphere turns frigid.

Before Hajime can yell at everybody to cut it out, Terushima takes a deep breath and bows deeply, taking everyone by surprise.

“I’m sorry, Iwaizumi-san,” Terushima says, firm and apologetic. “You probably hate me because, um, because you got beaten up because of me. I just want you to know I’m really sorry, and I promise this’ll never happen again. If you want, I—I can quit the volleyball team to make it up to you. I’m so sorry.”

At this, the Johzenji team erupts in shouts of protest. Hajime feels his face burning up, both out of embarrassment and alarm.

“Dude, why the fuck would I want you to quit? You didn’t even do shit.”

It says a lot about how frustrated and confused Hajime is when his brain-to-mouth filter malfunctions. On a normal day, Hajime is perfectly civil. He doesn’t like swearing at people. Most people don’t deserve that. Except Oikawa, of course. He always deserves it. But today is clearly not a normal day, is it? Hajime feels drained all of a sudden—too much emotional processing for one day. He just wants to shower, and head straight for bed. Preferably with Oikawa. Cuddles sound really nice right now. Hajime wants Cuddles and Warm Boyfriend, not Confrontations and Apologies 101.

Ignoring the many pairs of eyes that are suddenly trained on him, Hajime focuses only on Terushima, who is now looking at him like he is a puzzle he cannot solve. “But… it _is_ my fault. The first years told me they did it to defend me.”

Hajime can’t believe what he’s hearing. “Please tell me you’re just screwing with me at this point.”

Terushima’s face falls. Fuck, he _is_ serious. Terushima really thinks this whole thing is his fault. What the fuck?

Hajime groans, rubbing his hand over his face. “Terushima, listen. Did you, in any way, instigate the first years to jump me?”

Both teams tense at the question. Hajime ignores them. He waits for the answer he already knows.

Terushima’s eyes widen, objecting vehemently. “Of course not!”

“Did you know the first years were going to jump me _before_ the attack?”

Again, the response is immediate and earnest. “No! If I knew, I would’ve stopped them! Really!”

Hajime trusts him. Despite his looks and flippant attitude to, well, everything in life, Terushima Yuji is a good kid.

“Then how is any of this your fault? The first years fucked up, not you.”

Terushima opens his mouth to argue, but nothing coherent comes out. Hajime can practically see the gears in his brain churning at full speed, trying to process what he was just told. If it didn’t seem like a fight is about to break out—one can never be too sure with Kyotani around—Hajime would’ve burst out laughing at the look on Terushima’s face, somewhere between deer caught in the headlights and being constipated for a week.

“Look, it’s not rocket science. Oikawa dissed you guys, your first years jumped me in retaliation, we fought back, everyone involved gets punished, end of story. None of this was your fault, dude. You’ve been nothing but civil to us,” Hajime reassures.

“Iwaizumi’s right. You were merely the catalyst, and a convenient excuse for the first years to point the finger at,” Oikawa speaks up, addressing Terushima in seriousness. “It’s nice of you to offer your apology, but it isn’t necessary. We can differentiate right from wrong just fine on our own.”

Pleasantly surprised, Hajime turns his attention to Oikawa (who had stepped aside the moment Terushima bowed), only to find him staring right back, as if searching for something. Pursing his lips, Oikawa seems to find what he’s looking for, letting out a soft sigh.

“If anything, it’s partially on me. I should’ve been more tactful with my words,” Oikawa admits. Pulling his face into a sneer, he adds, “That said, those shitty first years of yours are definitely at fault too, 200% no doubt. Bunch of snotty brats.”

Hold on a minute, is Hajime hearing this right? Did _the Oikawa Tooru_ just openly acknowledge his mistake? Now this is a development Hajime did not expect. Truly, Oikawa never fails to surprise.

“Pulling the ‘I did this for you’ card? That’s emotional blackmail, Teru-kun. How disgraceful!” Oikawa continues, looking put out. “How dare they try to shuffle off the blame? _They_ chose to gang up and jump Iwaizumi in the streets. _They_ planned it. No one told them to. Hasn’t anyone taught them just because they don’t like criticism doesn’t mean they can go around beating people up? They’re so out of hand, it’s like discipline doesn’t exist at Johzenji. Is your school in a state of anarchy? Speaking of school, shouldn’t _you_ be smart enough to not let your juniors pull a fast one on you, Teru-kun? Aren’t you supposed to be smart or something? What, did you _cheat_ your way into Class Seven? What a waste of brain cells!”

Aaaaaand he’s back. It’s always a fine line between classy and trashy with Oikawa. The Seijoh team exchanges long-suffering looks. Some things never change.

“Errrr…” Terushima hesitates, looking back and forth between Hajime and Oikawa, not knowing how to respond. Hajime gets it—Oikawa can be a handful when he’s in a mood. Scratch that, he is _always_ a handful, whether or not he’s in a mood.

Hands on his hips, Oikawa demands, “Well?”

“Point noted?” Terushima answers, uncertain. “I’ll have another talk with the first years when we get back. Set ‘em straight and all.”

“Good, good. Alrighty, now that that is done, let’s move on to more important things, shall we? Does anyone want quick pointers on our last match?” Oikawa offers, probably thinking it a gesture of goodwill. “I promise I’ll be nice this time. Constructive criticism, as they call it.”

Cricket silence.

Hands on his hips (again), Oikawa demands (again), “ _Well_?”

“Oikawa, you can’t force people to listen to you if they don’t want to,” Hajime says.

“Yes, I can!”

“No, you can’t.”

“Yes!”

“No means fucking no, dumbass.”

“I can do whatever I want, and you can’t stop me, Iwa-chan!”

“No—”

“Actually, yes,” a voice interrupts, smoothly breaking up the argument. “Yes, we would like to hear from you, Oikawa. The Johzenji volleyball team welcomes _constructive_ criticism.”

“Oh, hello, Hana-chan. Nice of you to join us,” Oikawa greets the Johzenji manager with a charming smile. “You’re the only one here with an eye for good things.”

“As much as I don’t like the way you dissed my team, I wouldn’t go that far as to call you a _thing_ , Oikawa-kun,” Misaki says. She doesn’t need to—the snub in her tone says it all.

Oikawa laughs, waving her off. “My, my. Aren’t you a feisty one.”

“Please, miss me with the part where you flirt with me for no other reason than to bait me to simp over you. Save yourself the trouble, and me the misery. I have zero interest in baby gays, not to mention taken ones,” Misaki replies, cutting right through Oikawa’s bullshit. “Get to the point, will ya? I can’t dawdle for too long. Gotta get these guys back before Coach loses his patience and makes us run back to school as punishment.”

Grin widening, Oikawa exclaims, “Hana-chan, you totally aced the test! You may now call yourself a friend of Oikawa Tooru~ Isn’t that fantastic news!”

“Absolutely flattered,” Misaki deadpans, looking anything but. Hajime can tell she’s already tired of him, and Oikawa has barely started. Looks like Hajime has found himself a comrade.

Gesturing animatedly, Oikawa pulls Misaki aside to exchange notes, the Johzenji team tagging behind like imprinted puppies. Guard lowered now that the worst has blown over, the Seijoh team doesn’t bat an eyelid when Terushima slides up next to Hajime. In twos and threes, they start drifting over to Oikawa instead, enticed by his acute post-match analysis. Only Hanamaki and Kyotani stay behind, the latter never taking his eyes off Terushima. Hajime wonders if he doesn’t need to blink. His eyes aren’t even watering from the excessive glaring. Truly, an athlete’s tenacity is not to be underestimated.

“So, Iwaizumi-san?” Terushima asks, pulling Hajime’s attention back.

“What’s up?”

“Can I confirm something with you real quick?”

“Sure.”

“The whole deal’s done, right? We good?”

“Yeah, we good. Don’t sweat it.”

“Aite, cool,” Terushima nods, satisfied with the answer he gets. “Cool, cool.”

“Y’all should shake on it, make it formal,” Hanamaki suggests. “That’s what Iwaizumi makes us do all the time.”

Shrugging, Terushima goes for it, putting out his hand. Although Hajime is immediately suspicious of Hanamaki’s shifty disposition, he can’t actually see a problem with this. Ah, whatever. They shake on it, sealing the deal.

With a shit-eating grin on his face promising mischief, Hanamaki then reveals his true colors, asking, “Yo, Terushima. Wanna see something funny?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t let go. Keep shaking Iwaizumi’s hand, and count down from five.”

“Aite,” Terushima complies, counting down as instructed. “Five, four, three, tw—”

“Teru-kun, as much as it must be nice to hold Iwaizumi’s hand, it has been eleven seconds and counting, so I think it’s high time you let go,” Oikawa cuts in, voice sickeningly sweet. “If you want to hold a spiker’s hand, I would recommend you hold your own. Singles should rough it out on their own. It’s abhorrent to try and seduce someone else’s man. Iwa-chan’s taken. He’s mine. _My_ soulmate, _my_ boyfriend, _my_ vice-captain, _my_ spiker. Not yours. Mine. Don’t touch what’s mine, you’ll invite bad karma.”

Hajime is going to fucking end Oikawa _and_ Hanamaki today.

“Shut the fuck up, Trashykawa. You’re a fucking embarrassment, I swear. Sorry guys, I’ll remove this trash from the premises right now,” Hajime announces, dragging Oikawa by the cuff of his jersey in the direction of the exit, doggedly turning a deaf ear to his team’s howls of hysteria behind him. “All the best, Johzenjis. Terushima, I’ll catch you later. Take care.”

“Don’t be a man-stealer, Teru-kun!” Oikawa says, waving to the Johzenji team. “Bye!”

“Shut. Up. Oikawa,” Hajime huffs, a little dizzy from the blood gushing to his face. “You’re so fucking dead once we get home.”

“Heh, what _can_ you do? Eat me up?” Oikawa teases, sticking his tongue out.

“You know what,” Hajime snaps, picking up his pace, causing Oikawa who is still walking backwards to trip over his feet. “That sounds like a mighty fine idea.”

“W—what? Did you just say—”

“I don’t care anymore. Mom and Dad are out of town for the rest of the week anyway, so the house is empty. You are sleeping over tonight,” Hajime informs Oikawa. “You wanna act like a brat, you gotta handle the consequences.”

“Are you serious, Iwa-chan?” Oikawa squeaks, suddenly nervous. “D—do you know what you’re saying? What exactly are you planning on doing?”

Smirking, Hajime says, “That’s for me to know, and for you to find out, baby boy.”

Two words. Just two words, and the haughty Oikawa falls, stupefied and subdued. It’s eye-opening how two simple words can render the most talkative person speechless. Hajime has Matsukawa to thank for the tip.

On the bus, Oikawa doesn’t drape himself over Hajime’s lap like he usually does. He sits prim and proper in his seat, maintaining a borderline awkward space between the both of them. It’s so out of character, even Coach Mizoguchi comes asking if they fought. Answering that Oikawa is just shy will open up a messy can of worms, so Hajime just shakes his head. He lets Oikawa have his space, leaving him to indulge in his imagination, undoubtedly racing wild and unbridled. From time to time, he catches Oikawa shyly peeking at him, then pretending to look elsewhere when Hajime tries to make eye contact, cheeks rosy. Hajime is very entertained by this bashful side of Oikawa. _He’s so fucking cute_ , Hajime thinks.

Yeah, Oikawa Tooru is a brat.

A childish, annoying brat.

But that’s nothing Hajime doesn’t already know, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.


	10. epilogue

In the ghost hours of the night, Hajime wakes up. By the slant of weakened moonlight shining in, it must be closer to dawn than midnight. Since he’s sleeping over at Oikawa’s tonight, Hajime automatically turns to his left—Oikawa always sleeps on his left because Hajime likes to massage his right knee before they sleep—only to find Oikawa missing. Again, for the second time tonight.

Hajime sighs, psyching himself to abandon the cozy warmth of the bed in search of his errant boyfriend. Again, for the second time tonight. He counts to four (no particular reason except that’s his jersey number) and gets up right away, knowing that hesitancy will cause him to flop back down. Fumbling for his slippers with eyes half-closed, Hajime slides them on and silently makes his way to the study room.

There he finds Oikawa, huddled under a blanket drawn over his head, staring intently at his laptop in the dark, glasses reflecting the glare of the screen. Hajime wonders what is it this time—an outer space conspiracy video, last year’s Spring High replays, or an American chick flick picked at random.

Hajime isn’t left in the dark for long; even with the volume turned down, the shrill pitch of a whistle gives it away. Volleyball it is.

Not wanting to startle Oikawa, Hajime calls out softly from the doorway, “Tooru.”

Looking up, Oikawa blinks. The first thing he says is, “Just one more match. Promise.”

“No. You said that the first time I got up to get you. No more. Come on, you need to rest.”

“Pleeeeeaseee? Pretty please with a kiss? Ten kisses? One hundred million kisses?”

“Acting cute isn’t going to work—no means no. I’m tired, you’re tired, the whole world is tired. It’s time for bed,” Hajime says, crossing his arms. “I’m not sleeping over anymore if you keep this up, I mean it.”

Oikawa pouts. “Hmph.”

“Pack it up. Now.”

Reluctant as he is, Oikawa obeys. He closes his laptop, takes off his glasses, and rubs his strained eyes. Yawning, he waddles to Hajime and hops up, promptly attaching himself onto Hajime’s back like a baby koala. _Cute_ , Hajime thinks as he piggybacks Oikawa back to the bedroom.

Gently lowering Oikawa on the bed, Hajime checks, “Does your knee hurt?”

“Nope.”

“Does it feel stiff? Sore? Do you want a hot compress?”

“No, it’s okay,” Oikawa whispers. “Let’s sleep, Iwa-chan.”

“Okay.”

Lying down, Hajime tucks Oikawa in, and waits. He waits as Oikawa wiggles around, trying to get comfortable. Then, he waits as Oikawa does his breathing exercises, the ones that are supposed to help him combat his insomnia. Truth be told, he doesn’t want to wait. Hajime’s the kind to fall asleep the minute his head hits the pillow, so it’s more of a struggle for him to fight sleep than fall asleep. He’s really sleepy, and if he chooses to relax and close his eyes right this instance, he’ll be out like a light.

Even so, Hajime waits.

In the ghost hours of the night, Oikawa’s prolonged battle with chronic insomnia is a toiling and lonely one; the least Hajime can do is stay up with him for as long as he can withstand.

Besides, knowing Oikawa, he might try to sneak out again once Hajime falls asleep.

And so, Hajime waits.

Oikawa’s breathing doesn’t get deep and slow and steady like it’s supposed to. Antsy, he fidgets and twists around, a telling sign he’s getting frustrated. The breathing exercises don't seem to be of help tonight. With a small, resigned sigh, Oikawa stills. _He’s going to get up_ , Hajime guesses. Sure enough, Oikawa gingerly lifts Hajime’s arm off his waist, inching away. Before he can make his getaway, Hajime secures his hold on Oikawa and pulls him back.

“If you even take one step out of bed to do what I think you’re going to do, I will send your ugly crying photos to Ushiwaka,” Hajime threatens, mumbling drowsily into his pillow.

“You’re still awake?” Oikawa asks. “I was so sure you fell asleep. Did I wake you?”

“Waitin'—I knew it—gotcha.”

Oikawa giggles, a sound Hajime never tires of hearing. “I don’t understand what you’re saying, Iwa-chan. Are you sleep-talking?”

“Dunno. Sleepy.”

“Then sleep,” Oikawa coaxes. “Want me to hum you to sleep?”

“Can’t. You first, me after,” Hajime murmurs. Verbalizing thoughts is so much harder when he’s this sleepy.

“You want me to sleep first?” Oikawa clarifies.

“Mm.”

“I can’t,” Oikawa replies, doleful. “I tried. It’s not working.”

“Come ‘ere,” Hajime mumbles, scooping Oikawa into his embrace. Groping around, Hajime locates Oikawa’s sleep mask, one with a pair of humongous alien eyes on it that Oikawa made Hajime win for him at last year’s school fair, somehow tucked inside one of Oikawa’s many pillows. Shaking it out, Hajime tugs it over Oikawa’s eyes, fitting it over the groove of his nose bridge. Then, in slow, circular motions, he rubs Oikawa’s back, like one would to soothe a fussy newborn.

Fortunately, Oikawa settles quicker than a baby. Under Hajime’s ministrations, he soon goes limp in his arms.

“Iwa-chan, will you love me forever?”

The silence that follows is steadfast, Hajime being too tired to respond. Unable to resist the lure of sleep any longer, he feels himself free-falling into the abyss of unconsciousness, hand coming to a gradual stop on Oikawa’s back.

Thinking Hajime has fallen asleep, Oikawa whispers, “Good night, Iwa-chan. I love you.”

Giving Hajime a peck on the cheek, Oikawa burrows into his side, nuzzling his neck. On instinct, Hajime hugs him tighter, sniffing his fluffy hair, kissing his head gently.

Life’s greatest gifts come at the most unexpected of times, in the most unique of forms. Oikawa came to Hajime in the searing summer heat of his early childhood, and so did love. Granted, Hajime is young, and isn’t apt at feelings, so he can’t say he knows much about the L word. But at the very least, Hajime understands acutely how he feels, and how Oikawa makes him feel.

This is it, for him.

Oikawa Tooru is it for Iwaizumi Hajime, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

“I love you, Tooru,” Hajime murmurs, voice thick with sleep. “Forever and always.”

(Tooru sleeps exceptionally well that night.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 7/4/19–29/10/20
> 
> ✨ kinder surprises ✨
> 
> hanamaki's you-know-what: makki is secretly in love with mattsun and has a whole photo album of them together and he's thinking of confessing with it but he's really scared he'll fuck up their friendship (also he thinks that's really fucking sappy and mattsun will make fun of him—much to oikawa's exasperation because the way mattsun looks at makki is _so_ obvious makki you're a pining fool)
> 
> oikawa's you-know-what: PGP: Abduct aka Post-Graduation Plan: Abduct Iwa-chan to the hot springs to seduce him and return a claimed man (honestly oikawa is Too Much and should be stopped at all cost someone save iwa)


End file.
